


after/before

by hope_calaris



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mindfuck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-13
Updated: 2011-12-13
Packaged: 2017-10-27 07:22:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 25,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/293159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hope_calaris/pseuds/hope_calaris
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For somebody who seems not to be really fond of Arthur, Eames knows surprisingly much about the other man. He knows how Arthur met the Cobbs, why he shouldn’t work with a guy named Wassiljew ever again, the way he looks when he’s drunk and sits in a prison cell, or how he sounds when he’s absolutely sure about something. Eames also knows things Arthur never told him, but these stories are hidden in the looks exchanged between Cobb and Arthur. Ariadne doesn’t know any of these things, but she’s curious and Eames is just the right man to tell her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [And this has been hard enough on you (I know it's been hard enough on me)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/293136) by [hope_calaris](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hope_calaris/pseuds/hope_calaris). 



> **Disclaimer:** The moment unicorns are real, I make money with this.

[after]

It starts with Arthur’s body not being fond of a new Somnacin mix they’re trying out. The middle is Ariadne finding out that Cobb and Arthur not only share a past, but a present, a hotel room and -- Eames is pretty sure -- a future as well. It ends with a kick to Eames’ shin from Ariadne and for some reason that Eames can’t fathom, now he’s the one bringing red wine and dark chocolate to Ariadne’s hotel room -- as a means of excuse.

Life is weird that way, he decides, and doesn’t think about it any longer when Ariadne opens the door. There’s phantom pain in his shin when he crosses the threshold, but he smiles it away and sits down on the couch.

“So,“ she says and draws the word out like it’s a whole sentence while she unwraps the chocolate.

“So,” he says and unscrews the bottle of wine. He watches how she lets the dark chocolate melt in her mouth and pours the red liquid into two glasses. Chocolate still in her mouth she takes a sip. He cringes. “Honey, that’s really not the way to enjoy a perfectly fine -- “

“Shut up, it’s delicious,” she interrupts him and takes another bite of the dark chocolate. “Also, you owe me one for Cobb and Arthur.” She looks intently at him over the brim of her glass. “I’m curious, how did you find out?”

“More or less in the same way you did.”

“Before or after Fischer?”

He raises an eyebrow. “Honey, no one in his right mind would have started a relationship with Cobb before Fischer.”

“We’re talking about Arthur here. No one in his right mind would have stayed with Cobb before Fischer.”

He tilts his head and shrugs. She’s right, but Arthur’s unwavering loyalty is a story for another time.

[before]

He finds out because they were found out. Some thugs in clichéd black bomber jackets had crashed their hideout without a warning, and Eames would really like to yell at Arthur for his epic fail in keeping them safe, only that he didn’t fail. Cobb and Eames are alright because they came late to the party, Tobias, their chemist has already left two days ago, and now the world is three idiots poorer and Arthur a hole in his side richer.

To say that Cobb is frantic would be like saying that Ariadne is a good in architect or that Arthur likes paradoxes. Cobb looks like the only thing he really sees is Arthur’s blood flowing over his hands while he presses down on the wound. Arthur hisses through clenched teeth and tries to move away, so Eames has to hold Arthur’s shoulders to keep him in place.

“Cobb,” he says and then louder, because he doesn’t get a reaction. “Cobb!” Finally, Cobb reacts and turns his head to Eames. His eyes look as if he’s caught in his worst nightmare, and Eames growls because he’s only time for one person falling apart at a time. “We need to get him to his room,” he says. With a bullet wound they can’t go to a hospital, everybody knows that. “And call Saito to ask if he can call in a favor.” Cobb is beyond speech or even moving away from Arthur, so it’s Eames who packs the barest necessities before he kneels down next to Arthur’s head. “Think you can stand up with help, darling?” he asks.

“Ye… yes,” Arthur stutters and closes his eyes as he slings an arm around Cobb and stands up. Nobody comments on the shallow breathing or the small noise of pain. Eames opens the door for him and Cobb. The way Arthur’s clinging to Cobb means they should get a doctor fast. They make it to the car and he slides behind the steering wheel with Arthur and Cobb in the backseat. It’s only when the engine starts that he realizes he’s no idea which way to go. He’s rented a little apartment for the job, but has no clue where Arthur sleeps.

“The Myriad,” Arthur finally says and gasps when Cobb presses harder against his side. He’s pale and even in the rearview mirror Eames sees the cold sweat on his skin. He ignores the sick feeling in his stomach and orders Cobb to call Saito. Turns out their former client is as awesome as Ariadne makes him out to be, because he promises there will be a doctor with them in the next twenty minutes. Eames makes it to the hotel in under ten.

It takes some work, but they make it undetected up the stairs. Eames doesn’t know the room number, but Cobb is leading them, so he must know where Arthur lives. Finally, they stop in front of room 42 and it’s Cobb who slides the key out of his pockets and opens the door.

In hindsight, that is a pretty obvious clue, but Eames is kind of preoccupied with keeping a trembling Arthur upright at that moment. Cobb takes over again and Arthur more or less melts in his side when they step over the threshold. Eames is left to close the door and make sure that nobody saw them, so it takes him a moment to realize where he is exactly. It’s not Arthur’s room. Or better, it’s not _only_ Arthur’s room. This shirt over there on the couch doesn’t belong to him, but to Cobb. The photo frame on the nightstand shows Cobb’s kids.

 Yet the biggest clue of all is the way Cobb is sitting next to Arthur, who’s lying on the bed, and keeps pressure on the wound all the while whispering reassurances. It’s not a scene of a friend comforting a friend, it’s something much more intimate and Eames turns away for a moment because he feels like he’s intruding. It makes sense now. The way Arthur seemed happier with Cobb at his side again. That feeling Eames had had that he’s missing something importance. A knock on the door saves him from his thoughts, and he sighs in relief when it’s the doctor Saito promised.

\---

[after]

“You should feel honored, honey,” he breaks the comfortable silence between them. He’s entirely drunk, he thinks and watches the red liquid in his glass swirl, otherwise he would never ever say something like this.

“What?” Lazily, she turns her head in his direction. Her feet are dangling from the armrest of the armchair, and he’s no idea how that’s comfortable.

“You should feel honored,” he repeats and there’s only a slight slur to it. He’s proud of his ability to sound nearly completely sober while being shit-faced. It’s a long honed skill and comes surprisingly handy in his profession.

She squints at him. “To be in your presence or what?”

“Noooo.” He tilts his head and thinks about it. “Well, yes, that of course, too -- but I don’t mean that.”

“You’re drunk.”

“Thanks, princess obvious.” He grins and takes another swig.

“What do you mean then?” she asks and stares at the ceiling, so that her hair swings freely.

“Arthur let you in his room,” he explains and only feels a slight twinge of jealously. He tries not to show it.

“Are you growling at me?”

“Of course not.”

“You are,” she says, flabbergasted, and puts her feet firmly on the ground. “Why are you growling at me? I saw his room, what about it?”

She looks him straight into his eyes and doesn’t blink. He survives this staring contest for about five seconds, then he decides that he’s too old for this shit -- and no, not too drunk. “It took me over two years and five bullets to the head until I could set a foot in his hotel room,” he finally rumbles and suddenly finds his shoes incredibly amazing to look at.

“I don’t understand,” Ariadne says after the longest time. “After what happened today I just wanted to make sure he got in his bed okay.”

“Cobb would have stopped you,” he says and glares at the traitor in his glass which makes him spill all his petty secrets.

“I’m pretty sure that only makes sense in your head, Eames.”

“No, honey, I’m telling you … even in the state Arthur was in today, he’d made the conscious decision to let you in his room -- well, technically, Cobb’s and his room, but as far as I know Cobb follows his lead on this.” He looks at her incredulous face and smirks. It’s balm for his soul to know more about this than she does. “So if Arthur hadn’t wanted you in their room, Cobb would have found a way to leave you behind in the elevator or something like this.”

“What exactly are you telling me?” she asks, the wine glass forgotten in her hand.

“That you’re in, honey. Nash never saw anything personal from Arthur besides his suits, and if I’m informed correctly -- and I’m fairly sure I am -- nobody else from all the people Cobb and he have worked with over the years either.”

“I’m in … ” she whispers, and there’s a soft glow to her cheeks that has nothing to do with the wine at all.

“Welcome to the team, honey,” he cheers with a smirk.

[before]

Eames doesn’t know what to make of Arthur -- well, the new and improved Arthur or whatever you want to call him. It’s not Eames’ first job with the Cobbs after they’ve hired Arthur, but he still hasn’t found his footing with the new situation, not after the whole Paul-disaster and the way Mal expressed her protective streak. However, he’s definitely not mulling over this when Arthur finds him sitting on one of the benches on the UCLA campus.

“It’s weird, isn’t it?” Arthur says and sits down next to him. His hair is growing out of the military cut he sported when they first met and starts to curl at his neck. It’s a becoming look for him.

“What do you mean?”

“Being here, meeting you again,” Arthur says and shrugs a bit, as if he’s uneasy in his own skin. He probably still can’t believe the turn his life took in the last months. “I mean, you’re wanted by Scotland Yard for stealing this Blake painting -- “

“Allegedly stole,” Eames interrupts him and tries not to wonder how Arthur knows this.

“If it helps you sleep at night,” Arthur replies with a small smile and stands up again. “Care to join me for a bit of sparring?”

“Sparring?” Surprised, Eames looks up to him, blinking against the bright sunlight.

“Yes, sparring. Need me to spell it out for you?” Arthur repeats and rolls his eyes.

Eames only hesitates for a second, because Arthur is still limping a bit, but then he nods. If Eames knows one thing about the other man than that he wouldn’t ask if he’s not sure. “Why not,” Eames replies and gets up to follow Arthur.

Maybe Eames isn’t there yet, but he has the feeling he will find his place in this team.

 ---

[after]

Their job is successful, nobody has to leave town in a hurry, and somehow Ariadne convinced them all to have a night out celebrating in a pub. Even Yusuf, who’s in town -- well, who’s in the country -- joins them. It’s fun, and Eames leans back and doesn’t get to drink as much Guinness as he wants because he’s too busy smiling. Ariadne is retelling one story after another about how her attempts at paradoxes only produced flying cows among other things, and she manages not to stare the entire time at Cobb and Arthur. Cobb probably wouldn’t notice anyway, he’s too preoccupied laughing at her and leans ever so slightly into Arthur, who’s sitting next to him in the booth with his sleeves rolled up and without a tie hiding the first open buttons. He looks as relaxed as Eames can imagine, which is probably also due to Cobb caressing his knee under the table. Eames smiles into the foam of his beer and pretends not to see what’s going on. At the moment Arthur is once again trying to explain the finer aspects of paradoxes to Ariadne and everything goes well until Yusuf opens his mouth.

“I have a job offer for all of us if you’re interested. It sounds exciting,” he starts to explain and it’s a nice touch that he adds the _exciting_ , because none of them really need money at the moment. It’s the thrill that draws them back time and time again.

“Oh. What? Where?” Ariadne pipes up and takes another sip from her disgustingly bright cocktail.

“Siberia.”

“Cool -- I’ve never been to Siberia,” Ariadne says completely oblivious to the way the whole air in the room has seemed to shift. She sounds genuinely excited -- as if it’s clear that they will take this job as well.

“Who’s the client?” Cobb asks with the same wariness that settled in Eames’ stomach the moment Yusuf had said _Siberia_. But it can’t be, surely Yusuf knows that you don’t do jobs there, but then, it’s not his part of the world.

“Some guy named Wassiljew.”

“No,” Eames and Cobb say at the same moment and the rest of the team flinches collectively at their raised voices.

“What? Why?” Puzzled, Ariadne’s eyes wander between Cobb and Eames back and forth.

“He’s bad news, and we definitely don’t need his money,” Cobb answers tight-lipped and stares angrily at Yusuf. Any other time Eames would have felt sorry for the chemist, but not right now.

“Cobb, we can -- “ Arthur says gently, but Eames cuts him off.

“We can’t. And we won’t. Not again. I’m with Cobb on this.” He points at Arthur. “You don’t get a say, and Ari won’t be stupid enough to do this job when I tell her not to do,” he says and meets her glare with equal determination.

 “O … okay,” she eventually caves in.

 “I hope the same goes for you, Yusuf.” Eames nods at the other man. “I really like your sorry excuse for a cat, but I’m not inclined to adopt and feed it every day if you should turn up frozen to death in Novosibirsk.”

“I’ll tell him no, then,” Yusuf replies.

“Do that,” Eames says and pointedly ignores the glare Arthur shoots him over the table. This is not about patronizing him, though, either way Eames wouldn’t have worked with Wassiljew. Eventually, Arthur will realizes this and calm down. Maybe he will have some hot angry sex with Cobb or the poor bastard has to sleep on the couch tonight. It doesn’t matter as long as the only way Eames sees Wassiljew is to put a bullet to his brain.

[before]

Eames feels weird, like his skin itches because he’s missing something. He just can’t put a finger on what he’s failing to see. It irks him. Usually, he’s better than this, but eventually he shrugs and pushes the thought to the back of his mind. He’s got better things to do; calling Ariadne in Paris to see how her final year is coming along for example, or to smirk at Cobb, because after more than half a year the extractor finally caved and came back to the business. Eames would never say so aloud, but secretly he’s relieved to see Cobb working with Arthur again. He suits Arthur so much better than any random team Arthur has worked with in the past. Arthur even seems somewhat happy, which also means Eames gets away with more banter than in the last months. The job itself is pretty straight-forward, so Eames is quite relaxed when Tobias -- their chemist -- and he walk to their workplace to meet the rest of the team.

“Guten Morgen,” he greets Arthur and Cobb with the little bit of German he can still remember from his last time in the country.

Arthur is probably about to answer him with a perfect sentence in the same language, when Tobias nearly knocks Eames to the side.

“Arthur!” Tobias yells and sounds absolutely pleased. The thing is, Arthur didn’t know who Eames would bring in as their chemist. Yusuf hadn’t want to leave the country because of his sick cat, so Eames had stepped in and called Tobias. He likes the other man. He’s a bit off, but with a sense of humor Eames just knows will Arthur drive up the wall. Eames tries not to think too much about the fact that his vouching for Tobias was enough for their point man. That level of trust between them still scares him from time to time.

“Tobias,” Arthur replies, with less enthusiasm, but still polite enough that Eames knows this whole cooperation won’t end with Tobias dead on the floor for having Arthur screwed over at some point in the past. People have the funny tendency to try and mess with Arthur. They also tend not to walk away from it.

“You didn’t tell me I would work with Arthur,” Tobias complains and shoves his elbow in Eames’ side.

“I didn’t think it would be such a big thing,” Eames mumbles and raises a questioning eyebrow at Arthur. Arthur decides to ignore him as well as Cobb’s tilted head and they go to work.

It’s pretty smooth. Arthur has researched their mark thoroughly and probably knows more about the woman’s habits than she does, Cobb’s building some pretty neat mazes -- not that Eames will tell that to Ariadne, she’s still the best -- and Tobias fills the space with never-ending chatter. It’s hilarious, really, because this guy probably has more stories up his sleeve than Eames could ever imagine, and he feels greatly entertained.

They say it’s all fun and games until somebody cries. Well, nobody starts to cry in the workspace, but Eames is pretty close to make somebody cry afterwards.

“ … and then there was this dog Wassiljew had. Do you remember it, Arthur?” Tobias asks during their lunch break and completely fails to notice how Eames’s head snaps up and a pencil falls out of Cobb’s hand. “Didn’t he want to give it to you as a present? God, he really liked you, didn’t he? He nearly chopped my balls of when my Somnacin mix didn’t sit well with you -- ”

“This is neither the right time nor the right place, Tobias,” Arthur says sternly and turns away.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Did I … “ Tobias trails off. He looks helplessly at Eames, who shakes his head.

“I think we’re missing coffee, don’t you think? Tobias, why don’t you go and get us some?” Eames asks and doesn’t care at all for the glare Arthur shoots in his direction. He doesn’t need to be sneaky, right now he only needs answers.

“I .. eh, of course. Might take a while, I … eh … want that special mix they make only in a coffee shop a few blocks away,” Tobias answers, grabs his jacket and tries and fails spectacularly to make his exit not look like an escape.

“This was completely unnecessary,” Arthur says though clenched teeth into the ensuing silence.

“I don’t think so,” Eames contradicts him and crosses his arms in front of his chest. It’s the only way he won’t break something, he knows.

“Oh, fuck you and the high horse you ride on,” Arthur snarls and is about to turn and leave the room as well when Cobb grabs his sleeve. Arthur stops dead in his tracks and there it is again, that feeling Eames is missing something.

“Arthur,” is all Cobb whispers. He looks so shocked, hopeful and angry all in one mix that it’s painful to watch. Nevertheless, Eames can’t help but to feel angry at him. If it hadn’t been for Cobb and his antics, Arthur would never have been even anywhere near Wassiljew.

“There’s nothing to tell, really,” Arthur still insists.

“Please.”

“I’m not lying,” Arthur reacts to the underlying tone in Cobb’s voice. “So, yes, Wassiljew made some suggestive remarks, but I blew him off and finished the job. No big deal.”

Cobb hesitates a few seconds before he nods and releases Arthur’s wrist. He believes Arthur, and Eames believes him, too. He still remembers Arthur’s wavering voice the first time after this cursed job in Siberia though. Even though Wassiljew apparently had kept his hands to himself, Arthur had been shaken by that experience.


	2. Chapter 2

[after]

He’s reading the local newspaper and drinking tea when Arthur calls him. The fact that Arthur is calling him should be a warning, because there should be no need to call him. They’re still in the preparation phase, and the mark has no idea what’s about to hit him.

“What’s up?” he asks.

“I lost your key. I’m sorry. I was with Ariadne in this bar and somebody must have grabbed them. Arm yourself, I’m on my way and will be there in ten minutes,” Arthur says, sounding guilty and angry at the same time.

“Okay,” is all Eames can say and disconnects the line. He sets his teacup down on the table and takes the gun hidden in the magazine rack into both hands. He has no idea who should be out to kill him at this particular point in time when everything had been quiet for so long. He snorts. Of course they come when he thinks he can relax a bit.

He holds his gun at the ready when he hears a key being tried to get into the keyhole at the door to his apartment. He probably should just shoot through the door, but he wants to look his attacker in the eye when he puts him down. Finally, he reaches for the doorknob, turns it around and opens the door with full swing, weapon pointed at whoever may come to kill him.

It’s Ariadne.

She’s bend over and she still has the keys in her hand, a frown on her face. “Ari!” he yells at her, completely taken by surprise. But then he grabs her arm, shoves her into his apartment and shuts the door. “What the bloody hell -- did you steal the key from Arthur?” He’s still yelling at her, but right now he doesn’t care that she looks with big round eyes at him and takes a step back into his floor. “ARI! The key!” Eventually, she nods and he runs a shivering hand through his hair before he grabs his phone and hits speed dial. “Arthur,” he says, “it was Ari … yes, I know … no, I haven’t the foggiest … you can drive back … yes, I’m sure … thanks, anyway, I’ll give you the key tomorrow. Bye.” He lets the phone drop on his hallway table, puts the gun next to it and stares at the silent girl in front of him. “I’m making tea,” he finally declares and heads to the kitchen. He’s too old for this shit, he thinks.

“I was angry,” Ariadne says quietly when she follows him into the kitchen, and he really wants to say he understands, but he doesn’t. He really doesn’t. She’s way too smart for this.

“You don’t go around stealing stuff from your teammates. You just don’t. Especially not from your point man,” he replies tightly and puts the sugar in front of her. She likes her tea sweetened to the degree of toothache.

“I was angry,” she repeats again. “And why does Arthur have a key to your room, anyway?” she asks petulantly and raises her chin. As if daring him to admit that he’s a secret affair with Arthur -- which is so ridiculous he nearly spills the boiling water.

“Exactly because he _is_ the point man,” he says and is once again reminded of how young she still is and how little she knows about all of this. “If I’m in trouble or something happens, Arthur’s the man I’d want to have full access to my room without the hassle of having to break in.” She’s stunned into silence, and he sighs while he fills the teacups with water. Most of the times it’s amusing to see people being flabbergasted when they realize how much trust he puts into the other man, but not tonight. Tonight he’s pissed. “And now I demand an explanation why you’re the cause I have to draw my weapon on an otherwise pleasant evening and Arthur has to drive halfway through the city to back me up against a supposed assassin before I can give an all-clear.”

“He’d do that -- ?”

“Of course he would!” Eames is close to ram his head against the kitchen wall, but he decides to forego this and the lesson about what their point man does and doesn’t do for another time. “But that’s not the topic right now. The topic is that you stole a key from him for no apparent reason I’m aware of.”

“I do have a reason!” she says. “Nobody knows me!”

“Excuse me?”

“Nobody in the dream-business knows my name. Arthur and I went out for a drink tonight in this shady, but cozy bar and I overheard some guys in the corner talking about Cobb’s team. They didn’t see us, but they were kind of … fangirling -- why are you grinning?”

“Huh?” He wipes the grin of his face and glares at her once more. But it’s nice to know they get the recognition they deserve, because -- yeah -- they’re kind of awesome in what they do.

“Anyway, they talked about all of you; about Arthur and you and Cobb … Cobb, the architect,” she growls and suddenly he has an idea where this is going. He’d told Cobb it was a stupid idea, but why listen to him, the expert on people? He rolls his eyes.

“Let me guess. You weren’t part of their retelling of our glorious deeds?”

“No! And Arthur dragged me away before I could tell them! And this isn’t the first time, either!” she complains and her arms are all over the place. He decides to bring the sugar box into safety and puts it away. Ariadne probably doesn’t need a sugar high on top of her anger. “Every time I hear somebody talking about us, they always seem to have forgotten that I’m part of the team. _You_ said I’m part of the team, so I wanted to talk to you about it,” she says and points an accusing finger in his direction.

He drinks his tea and waits for her to calm down a bit. He’d rather leave this talk to Cobb, but that bastard isn’t here right now and it’s not fair to make Ariadne wait for the morning for an explanation. “It’s for your own protection,” he makes clear. “That’s why Arthur never takes you to a client meeting and your name never gets mentioned outside the team, so you’re not part of the deal if a former mark or unsatisfied customer decides to order a hit on us.”

“What?” She blinks at him.

“Honey, you’re still young. You can go back if you want. Cobb just didn’t want you to lose that chance.”

“I never asked for this.”

“I know. If it makes you feel any better, I was against not telling you about it.”

Apparently it doesn’t make her feel better, because the teacup comes flying and he barely has time to duck out of its way before it crushes into the wall. Go figure that the cup was still full and now leaves an ugly stain on his wallpaper. “You’re all morons. I’m not some fragile creature who needs extra-protection only because I’m a woman.”

“I never suggested that, honey,” he says and means it. He knows she can take care of herself. “But Cobb more or less dragged you into all of this, so I can’t blame him for trying to make it up to you now.”

She stares right past him and swallows. “I can’t … no, I don’t _want_ to go back,” she finally whispers. “You … all of you … that’s where I belong now.”

You don’t get attached to a team, Eames wants to tell her. You just don’t, it’s messy and means taking unnecessary risks and it’s entirely too dangerous -- thing is, he’s already broken his own rule. He’s worked more jobs with Cobb and Arthur than he has with anybody else in the business. He’s feeding Yusuf’s cat, he has Saito’s private number. And now there’s Ariadne and every time he pictures himself at some airport on the edge of civilization he’s not alone any longer. And he thinks “Damnit”, but can’t find it in him to really mind. He goes around the counter and brushes Ariadne’s shoulder the slightest bit. “I don’t mind, honey,” he says with a smile. “And Cobb and Arthur won’t mind either once you’re done tearing Cobb a new one for not telling you and apologizing to Arthur for scaring him to death. But that can wait till tomorrow. I hear _American Idol_ is on today, care to join me for a night of poking fun at people who can’t and shouldn’t sing?”

Her smile is answer enough.

[before]

He’s impressed.

He’s exhausted, has a gash on his temple where a bullet grazed him, but most of all he’s impressed. “I’m impressed,” he says. Later, he can blame it on the adrenaline, but right now he has the urgent need to express his feelings.

“Try not to trip over your feet,” Arthur says and slides out of his suit jacket to hold it against Eames’ freely bleeding head wound. It’s one of his tailored jackets, Eames notices, and he feels oddly touched. Arthur spends a fortune on tailored suits because he looks utterly ridiculous in anything from the shelf -- Eames has told him as much on various occasions. Modern fashion industry just doesn’t expect somebody like Arthur anymore, somebody slim, but with muscles in all the right places.

“Stop staring,” Arthur says with a frown and steers them outside down the flight stairs. His car is waiting in an alley behind the hotel, where they just shot two people, but Eames can’t really feel sorry for them. They tried to kill him first.

“How did you know?” he finally asks safely tucked in the passenger seat when Arthur starts the car.

“I had a feeling,” Arthur answers and steers them through the heavy evening traffic.

“You don’t have a feeling,” Eames says and wonders what exactly he means by that. He hopes he didn’t insult Arthur, because that man kicked in his door and shot the guy who had smirked and pointed a weapon in Eames’ direction, ready to pull the trigger. Eames grimaces. He had never been particularly fond of Connor’s smirk.

“I keep track on everybody on the team, okay? And tonight something came through the grapevine and I wanted to check on you.”

Eames wants to ask a lot of questions. Something along the lines of “You keep track? You care enough? How did you kick in the door, you look so tiny?” What he asks instead is: “You couldn’t have called?”

Arthur glares at him. “You didn’t pick up your phone.”

“Oh,” is all Eames has to say to this. He faintly remembers switching it off because he’d wanted to enjoy the rerun of _Breakfast at Tiffany’s_.

Finally, they stop and get out of the car. Eames has no idea where they are, but when he turns to ask he sees Arthur wincing while he tries to move his shoulder. “Did you barrel that door down with your shoulder?” Even in the dark he can see Arthur rolling his eyes.

“No, I made a key magically appear out of thin air -- What do you think?”

“I’m getting you a key next time, that’s what I think.”

Arthur looks startled for a moment, and Eames wonders if he has a concussion. He’s not used to a startled Arthur or to the fact that he can startle Arthur at all. “Okay,” Arthur eventually says. “That could come in handy.”

\--

[after]

“Spill it,” he finally caves. The day’s been long, the coffee is crap, and he’s still no nearer to being able to forge the mark’s nephew then he’d been at the crack of dawn. It’s depressing, really, because of course Arthur’s all done with his research and he and Cobb left an hour ago to enjoy some ice cream from the little shop down the street. They have Guinness-ice. _Guinness_. Eames may have an aneurysm just thinking about it, but he doesn’t get to taste, because he’s holed up in this shack with Ariadne, who builds and rebuilds her mazes and hums in frustration, her body twitching with nervous energy. She jumps when she hears his voice.

“What?”

“Spill it. Whatever it is. You’re making me nauseous.”

She sits down next to him and he frowns. Woman sitting down to tell you something is never a good sign in his experience. If she takes his hand he’s screwed. He’s about to ask if she’s breaking up with him when he remembers that they’re not together in the first place.

“Cobb and Arthur … “ she begins and stops.

“Yes? Cobb and Arthur?” He hopes to God she doesn’t want to talk about their sleeping arrangements yet again. He’s so over that topic and really, although he’s got to admit to himself that this team means more to him than he’ll ever say aloud, he rather prefers Arthur’s stance on this: don’t ask, don’t tell.

“They’re not … I mean,” she’s blushing, and he thinks it looks adorable on her. “This is not only because Cobb wants it, right?”

“Eh … honey, I’m fairly sure that this is exactly what Cobb wants.”

“Oh God, but why would Arthur -- ” Her eyes go wide and he has the distinct feeling he’s missing something of importance here. Something that would be obvious in a world where the coffee doesn’t taste like shit.

“Honey, why don’t you ask me the whole question so we’re on the same page?”

“Why would Arthur go along with a relationship he doesn’t want?” she asks totally earnest.

Eames is pretty sure he makes a noise somewhere between a cough and a laugh. Also, he’s toppling of his chair. The idea of Ariadne ready to defend Arthur’s honor is playing out in front of his eyes, complete with Ariadne in armor on a gray and Arthur imprisoned in a high tower.

“This is not funny,” she admonishes him, her arms crossed in front of her.

“Oh, but it is!” he smiles widely and doesn’t mind that his butt hurts from the concrete he landed on. When he finally can draw a deep breath without breaking out into chuckles he gets up again and stands in front of her.

“I’m just … I care for all of you. I don’t want Arthur to get hurt,” she says and doesn’t look him into his eyes. He tugs a hand under her chin and raises it.

“That’s very noble of you, but I can assure you that their relationship is entirely consensual,” he says calmly and shrugs his shoulders. “They’re happy, in their own way they’re really happy … I don’t know how that works, but it does for them.”

She bites her lips and looks at him, uncertainty written all across her face. “You’re sure?”

“Yes, I am,” he says fully convinced.

“Okay,” she whispers and exhales a shaky breath. “Okay.”

[before] 

Eames only lied a bit about don’t ask, don’t tell. Because he did ask, once, six months ago.

It’s his duty, he feels, on this cold fall morning six months ago. Ariadne would probably do it, but she’s in Paris completing her final year on Cobb’s insistence, absolutely oblivious to the whole dilemma he is facing -- lying on the cold floor and trying his best to see straight. His jaw hurts and he already can feel the bruises purpling.

“God damnit, Cobb,” he curses and sits up. He doesn’t dare to get any higher in case Cobb wants to try out his other fist.

The conversation leading up to his predicament went something like this:

“Hi, Cobb, I couldn’t help but notice that you shack up with our point man,” he’d said nonchalantly. Cobb had frozen and his eyes roamed the room in search of Arthur, who -- since Eames is no idiot by any standard -- was researching something with the laptop from his bed in the hotel room. Cobb and Eames won’t let him anything near actual work while he’s still recuperating from the bullet wound.

“And your point is,” Cobb had finally said through gritted teeth.

“You didn’t incept him, did you?”

“You bastard,” was all the warning Eames had gotten.

Now he’s nursing broken skin and has a fuming Cobb standing over him. He suddenly wishes back for the days when his biggest concern was an angry ex-employer or how to escape Arthur’s paradoxes.

“I’m sorry, okay,” he says and sighs, “but somebody had to ask. You’re not exactly the shining example for healthy relationships with your lovers.” Cobb looks at him as if he wonders why he’s not dead yet. Eames shrugs it off. He is immune to it by now, he’s had enough practice thanks to Arthur.

Cobb helps him up in a silent apology. “It’s not like that,” he says quietly. “I … and he … I actually have no idea, but -- “ he looks at the floor and in Eames’ experience that means he’s telling the truth, but is too embarrassed to face him about it, “whatever it is, it’s good … it’s good.” It actually sounds honest. And that’s all Eames had asked for.

“Okay.” He nods. “Don’t screw it up, Cobb, because there will be hell to pay if you do.”

Turns out, the first who pays for anything is Eames himself two weeks later. He hits his head on air, then his trusted weapon turns into a rubber duck of all things, and he’s pretty sure Arthur knows.

“How did you find out?” he yells into the empty sky. Arthur doesn’t answer at first, and Eames begins to calculate how long he’ll be stuck in this paradox. Something like two hours, it’s what he comes up with and wonders if he can die of boredom first.

“Suddenly, he wanted to _talk_ ,” Arthur suddenly says to his right and Eames’ would have jumped, but the air is wound too tightly around him.

“I’m not apologizing for it,” Eames says stubbornly. He would have crossed his arms as well for effect, but he simply can’t move. Otherwise he’d have grabbed the Glock from Arthur’s hand and ended his suffering.

“You couldn’t just come and ask _me_?”

Eames rolls his eyes. “Wouldn’t do much good to ask you if you’d been incepted, now would it?”

Arthur actually looks surprised at his answer, as if this is something he hadn’t considered, and then he shakes his head. “He wouldn’t -- “

“If you plan to end this sentence with _do that_ , then think again. If I want it enough I can probably find a way out of this to beat some sense into you,” Eames warns him.

“He wouldn’t do that to _me_ ,” is what Arthur finally says. Eames just snorts. There’d been a lot of things Arthur had just taken from Cobb that would have made Eames shoot down the man. Repeatedly. So excuse him if he’s not ready to believe Cobb wouldn’t do something.

“You sure about that?” he asks, looking at the rubber duck at his feet.

“Yes, I am,” Arthur answers without hesitation, without a hitch in his voice, and he sounds so _absolutely_ sure that it makes Eames’ head snap up and stare at him, looking for the tiniest insecurity in his eyes. He finds none. “Which means I don’t need you messing around in my relationship with him,” Arthur goes on. “I wouldn’t let him make me unhappy, not in this way. I can take care of myself.” And suddenly Eames can breathe freely again, and it’s not only from the paradox which Arthur, who now raises his weapon to point at Eames, apparently dreamt away. “But your concern is much appreciated,” he hears Arthur say and knows that the other man means it.

Then he wakes up.

\---

[after]

“I give up,” Ariadne huffs in frustration and growls at her maze.

“No luck, honey?” Eames asks and goes over to her.

“No, the corners are all wrong and it’s too simple. Even a baby could do that in under a minute -- stupid maze.” She lets her head sink down on her crossed arms and stares at the buildings she’s created and -- Eames only notices now -- colored in some corners.

“How about we call it a day, eh? I fear the ice cream shop is closed, but we can take a walk on the beach.”

“It’s windy as hell,” she says and points out the window of the shack they use as a base for this operation.

“One more reason, don’t you think? Nobody will hear you when you scream your frustration to the crashing waves,” he explains smiling.

“I’d rather drown it in Kilkenny beer if you don’t mind.”

Eames is nothing but a gentleman when it comes to a lady’s wishes, so they sit in the town pub and order two glasses of Kilkenny fifteen minutes later.

The music session is in full swing when Eames has lost count of the amount of beer he’s consumed this evening, and Ariadne doesn’t make the impression to care either way. She owlishly blinks and waves her forefinger in the vague direction of his face to catch his attention. He stupidly grins and waits for her to say whatever it’s on the tip of her tongue.

“I don’t get it,” she finally states and puts down her glass with a reverberating ‘clonk’.

“Ah.”

“No, seriously,” she emphasizes.

“I totally agree.”

“Shut up, Eames, and listen.”

“Of course, honey,” he replies and salutes with his beer glass.

“You’re insufferable.”

“I heard that one before, I think,” he says and totally doesn’t giggle. He hopes that Ariadne still knows the way to their hotel.

“Probably from Arthur … speaking of -- “

“Oh oh,” he says and eyes her suspiciously.

She throws herself against the cushy backrest and breathes her hair out of her face. “Do you know the story how he and Cobb got together? I simply can’t imagine how that went … at least not in a world without magic and unicorns.”

Eames needs five minutes to stop laughing at her, before he can even attempt to answer properly. “I swear on the Queen, I have absolutely no idea.”

“Really?” She looks at him, disappointed.

“Really. For all I’ve seen I’m still baffled that they started working together again.”

[before]

Arthur calls him a month two after the inception or better, the police calls Eames at an ungodly hour on behalf of Arthur. That Arthur calls isn’t unusual per se, that the police calls because of him is something Eames hasn’t imagined even in his wildest dreams. Well, they’re not exactly calling because of Arthur, but they say the guy’s name is Tom Reynolds. Luckily, that’s one of Arthur’s aliases Eames recognizes.

“Please tell me when I took the wrong turn and landed in an alternative universe,” he begs of Arthur once he’s bailed him out of prison. He looks at the point man and wonders what the world is coming to. Arthur is a mess. He lost his jacket during the drunk bar brawl he was involved in. His hair is disheveled and his shirt has a tear in it.

 Arthur’s answer to Eames’ question consists of being sick on the sidewalk just out of prison. Eames scrunches up his nose, but is kind enough to keep the hair out of Arthur’s face. He sighs once Arthur’s finished and tumbles against a house wall. “Okay, let’s go. We don’t want them to arrest you again for public disturbance,” he tells Arthur and slides Arthur’s arm around his shoulder.

Arthur makes it to the corner before his knees give out under him and he slides down a wall. He doesn’t make the impression of wanting to move anytime soon. Eames sighs again and runs his hand through his hair. “You want to explain to me why I had to rescue from the police? In the middle of the night? In Frankfurt? And how did you even know that I’m here?”

“He incepted Mal,” Arthur says, and it doesn’t really answer any of Eames’ question, but on the other hand it explains so much it takes his breath away for a few moments.

“Bloody hell,” he says and slumps down next to Arthur.

“That’s ‘nother way to put it.”

“How did you … I mean … did he just tell you all of a sudden or … fuck.”

“Asked him.”

“That’s all?” Eames raises an eyebrow in surprise. “Why now?”

Arthur lets his head fall against the stone wall behind him and gives a throaty chuckle. “Seemed the appropriate time, he’s back with the kids, home … I dunno.” He shrugs. “Not like I hadn’t my own theories before, but this … shit. Didn’t expect that. How blind and stupid … “

Eames doesn’t know how to react, how to console. He feels hurt and betrayed and can’t even begin to imagine how Arthur must feel. Arthur, who was so much closer to Mal than Eames ever was, who owed so much to that vibrant woman.

“I’m sorry,” he finally says and cringes, because it’s such a horribly useless sentence in the greater scheme of things.

“Me too, Eames, me too … “ Arthur says and finally trails off.

Eames lets him be for a few minutes, but it gets pretty uncomfortable on the cold cement and he hasn’t the bones of a twenty-something anymore. He stands up.

“So … you want to tell me how you ended up in Frankfurt of all places?”

“Venice was all booked out. Seems like a lot of people heard it’s beautiful this time of the year.”

“Haha,” Eames replies and holds out a hand to help Arthur stand up. He wobbles a bit, but manages to keep standing. “No, seriously, why you’re here?”

Arthur mumbles something with his face turned away, and it takes Eames a while to decipher it as “Knew you were here”.

“You … “ he stammers, a million questions on his tongue, but Arthur stops him with a wave of his hand, and Eames clears his throat. “What do you plan now?” He asks instead.

“Dunno,” Arthur says and shrugs again. The street light shines pale and feeble down on them, and highlights the shadows under Arthur’s eyes. He looks lost, like somebody who was washed ashore on a strange land and has no idea where to turn next. “I left, that’s all I know right now. This and that I’m hungry. Do they have a fast food restaurant somewhere around here?”

“There’s a McDonald’s a few streets away,” Eames answers and tries his best to cover the shock he feels. Arthur left. Arthur left Cobb. That’s a concept his mind has trouble understanding. He failed time and time again to convince Arthur to leave Cobb behind and now that it has finally happened, it feels hollow and wrong.

“McDonald’s will do, then,” Arthur says, and all Eames can do is nod and lead the way.


	3. Chapter 3

[after]

It starts out innocently enough. He’s sitting on the desk in his hotel room, a newspaper, coffee and a bagel in front of him, and all is well. He has no idea how he deserved the bagels, but he doesn’t complain to Ariadne, who’s lying on his bed. She’s eating a bagel as well while she stares at the ceiling.

“I wonder how Arthur is in bed,” she suddenly says aloud without a warning. He nearly suffocates on his bagel and it takes a few dry coughs and tears in his eyes to save him from impending doom.

“Ari!” is all he gets out after this.

“What?” she asks innocently enough and stretches her feet towards the ceiling, wiggling her toes. “He’s always so controlled, I just wonder if he’s the same in bed.”

“He’s not,” Eames says. The next thing he sees is Ariadne’s fast moving body, which turns so she can stare at him open-mouthed. He fights the urge to throw himself out the window, because surely Arthur would want to have the honor to do that.

“You … you slept with Arthur?!? _Eames_! Oh my god!” She’s shrieking and he winces, because it’s too early for this and he hasn’t had enough coffee and oh God, Arthur’s going to kill him. In the meantime, Ariadne has moved on to the edge of his bed and she looks predatorily at him. “When? Why? How was it? I need details, Eames!”

“You don’t get details,” he says.

“That bad?” She tilts her head. “I can’t really imagine Arthur being bad in -- ”

“It wasn’t bad, it was -- “ He wants to say _sad_ , _heartbreaking_ , but he does neither. It’s not a memory he’s very proud of or that gives him warm fuzzy feelings when he revisits it. Quite the contrary.

 “What?” she asks curiously and actually nudges him into the side.

“Don’t -- just don’t,” he says and moves away from her. He knows there’s something in his voice that Ariadne hasn’t heard before, something cold and feral. Subdued, she settles back on the bed and plays with the corners of the bagel bag, but he doesn’t apologize to her. As much as her beautiful eyes make him want to spill all his secrets, this one doesn’t really belong to him.

[before] 

Eames is just off the phone telling Connor he will never ever work with him and his evil smirk again, when it knocks at his door. For a moment he thinks that Connor invented beaming just to shoot him right now and spare himself the trouble of driving an hour. Then he chuckles and shakes his head. Connor is way too stupid to even know what beaming means. Nevertheless, he grabs his gun from the nightstand.

“Who’s there?” he yells through the closed door, the gun at the ready.

“Arthur,” comes the muffled reply and Eames is inclined to believe his mind is playing tricks at him. Arthur doesn’t come and visit him in the middle of a rainy night on the other end of the world. He has better things to do, or maybe not better things, but more urgent ones. Finally, he opens the door and surprisingly, it is Arthur who’s standing in front of him. “You look awful,” slips his tongue, and he’s right -- Arthur does look awful. For starters, he’s drenched. Then his normally meticulously combed hair hangs feebly in his pale face, his shirt and the tie look like he slept in them and he’s shivering. “Shit, darling, what happened?” he asks and stretches a hand out to draw Arthur into his room, but Arthur sidesteps him.

“My … my flight got canceled and I need to … I should … I don’t have money for a room, but I have to …  “ Arthur stumbles over his own words and Eames palms the poker chip in the pocket of his pants to make sure this is reality. It is, but it is the reality after Mal. The reality in which Arthur phoned him in the middle of the night to tell him in a broken whisper that she’s dead, and that Cobb and he will have to leave the country -- Eames didn’t think about asking Arthur why he had to leave as well -- and in this new reality Arthur is stumbling over his words and looks so lost that Eames can’t help but wrap his arms around him in a tight hug.

“Love,” he whispers, “where’s Cobb?” Arthur goes still in his arms, only the cold shivers still wrecking his body, and Eames closes his eyes, fearing the worst.

“He’s with Miles. He can’t … he can’t work right now, but we need the money, so I have to go to Novosibirks and -- “

“Woah, wait, wait, Arthur,” Eames says and loosens the hug a bit to look Arthur in the eyes. “You’re not telling me you’re working with Wassiljew now, right?”

“We need the money,” Arthur repeats and Eames is close to beat some sense into him. Wassiljew is as bad news as they come. He only works with the real desperate, the ones who are crazy enough to try and get him what he wants, and more often than not these people fail and eventually turn up dead on the banks of the half-frozen Ob river.

“You can’t, Arthur. Don’t do that,” he says. He doesn’t want to have to fly to Siberia to identify a mangled corpse.

“Shut up, Eames.” Arthur’s voice is the barest of a whisper and his eyes are empty when he kisses Eames with the desperation of a drowning man. And Eames lets him. He has no words to make this better and Arthur probably wouldn’t hear them either way. His movements are frantic when he shoves Eames on the bed, and Eames _knows_ he should stop this, because Arthur will regret it with the next dawn, but he just can’t. Because right now it looks like everything that keeps Arthur from shattering into irrecoverably lost pieces is his grim determination to get them both out of their clothes as soon as possible.

Arthur’s still shivering when he sits down on Eames’ bed and just stares at the other man. The only light comes from the lamp on Eames’ nightstand and there’s a heavy silence between them. Eames looks up to Arthur from where he lies on the bed, takes in all of Arthur’s pale form, lets his eyes roam over the maze of broken and scarred skin imprinted on his right thigh. He wants to touch the scars, make them vanish, and maybe hurt a few people because of them, but it’s like with everything else when it comes to Arthur: Eames doesn’t take, he waits and sees what is given to him.

“We don’t have to -- “

“Shh,” Arthur says quietly and bends down to kiss him again. His damp hair is tickling Eames’ cheeks and from then on Eames isn’t the voice of reason anymore. He’s not above to admit that he’s always found Arthur attractive -- maybe intriguing would be a better way to put this, he thinks -- and uses his mouth to explore the delicate curve of Arthur’s neck.

Arthur’s wound tight under Eames’ hands, ready to snap at a moment’s notice, and Eames can practically feel the weeks of grief and anguish coiled under Arthur’s skin. He tries his best to make Arthur forget for a while, because he doesn’t believe for a second that he can actually do anything of substance about all of this; that the band-aids he’s putting on the wounds tonight won’t be ripped off the next day; that this is enough to make Arthur happy and whole again. That person died a long time ago anyway, even before Mal jumped out a window. And so maybe Arthur isn’t whole, hasn’t been for a long time, but at least he’s been happier than Eames had seen him in ages. And that’s enough in their corner of the world, but these happier times are a thing of the past now, and Eames holds back the tears when he comes and Arthur falls apart under him.

“She’s dead,” Arhus whispers, choking on silent tears streaming down his face, “Mal’s dead.”

“I know, love, I’m so sorry,” Eames says quietly in the hollow of Arthur’s neck and draws him into his arms.

“She’s dead,” Arthur repeats again and again, and each time it breaks Eames’ heart a little more. He draws the blanket over them both and holds Arthur’s trembling body in his arms, whispering sweet nonsense into his ears, never once closing his eyes, because he’s afraid Arthur will vanish like Mal, like maybe Cobb will as well.

“Sleep, love,” he murmurs and tries not to think too hard about what Arthur will do if he can’t hold on to Cobb anymore, it’s not a pretty thought. He lets his mind drift during the night, when the only sounds are coming from the rain outside and Arthur’s soft breath next to him on the bed.

The next morning comes way too soon for his liking, and then Arthur stirs in his arms.

“Morning, darling,” he says and draws his arm, which had sheltered the other man the whole night, away when Arthur frowns at him. “You want tea or coffee with breakfast?”

“I -- “ he stops for a second and sinks back into the pillow, as if he’d give everything to stay there, but then the moment is gone and a complete shift goes through Arthur’s posture. He’s no longer the grieving man Eames let into his apartment yesterday, but the focused business man. “I need a shower, if I may, but no breakfast. I have to catch a flight.”

“The shower it is then,” Eames says and tries his hardest to act like he doesn’t care. “Towels are on the rack next to it.”

Arthur just nods, and then Eames lets him be and busies himself in the kitchen. Unsurprisingly, Arthur’s done in record time and when Eames hears his footsteps he looks up -- only to feel his eyes go round. “That is a three piece suit,” he says, completely baffled. He’s never seen Arthur in anything like this before. Ties, yes; jackets, on occasions; but never in anything like this.

Arthur raises an eyebrow. “I need to look the part,” he simply says.

“Oh.” And of course he’s right, Eames thinks. This ensemble makes him look ten years older and with his hair slicked back like this he looks every bit like the ruthless criminal he wants Wassiljew believe him to be. Eames feels something constrict in his chest.  “You can stay, you know?” he offers Arthur. “I have a job lined up in Venice. I hear it’s beautiful this time of the year.”

“I can’t. I already agreed to do the job for Wassiljew. He’ll hunt me down if I don’t turn up, and I can’t leave Cobb alone,” he says, as if stating a fact.

The thing in Eames’ chest constricts even more, because they both know that the Russian mobster could hunt Arthur down even if he does his job -- Wassiljew’s crazy and ruthless like that. And in a way Eames understands why Arthur does this nevertheless, because if he survives this crazy stunt, then he’ll have a reputation and with that comes jobs. Only it doesn’t make Eames feel any better in the slightest.

“For what it’s worth,” Arthur’s soft voice interrupts his thoughts, “thank you.” He grabs his carry bag and turns to the door.

“Take care, okay?” Eames says because he doesn’t know what else to say. And somebody has to remind Arthur that it’s not all about the others, that he’s allowed to care for himself as well. Even now. For a second, Arthur’s hand on the doorknob hesitates and Eames’ heart leaps in silent hope, but then Arthur’s gone and the door is shut behind him.

\---

[after]

She doesn’t look Eames in the eyes when she gives him the last bagel. He understands her silent apology nevertheless.

“It’s okay, honey,” he says, because he can’t stand to be mad at her. “It’s in the past, and Arthur and I are both okay with it.” Warily, she raises her head and bites her lips. He just knows she’s dying to ask him another question. He sighs. “Before you blurt it out in front of Arthur, ask me.”

“So you don’t -- ”

“Love him?” he cuts her off. She blushes and he fights the urge to run a hand through her hair to reassure her. “No, and he doesn’t love me either. It wasn’t like that.”

She’s classy enough so she doesn’t ask any more questions after it, just steals him half of his newspaper and settles on the bed again. He eats the last bagel, leans back in his chair and thinks that he could get used to this.

[before]

Arthur survives the Wassiljew job and calls Eames to let him know. He sounds a bit funny, but Eames is too relieved to hear from Arthur at all that he doesn’t pay attention to the little details. He may even have opened a bottle of champagne that night to celebrate that he didn’t had to fly to the middle of nowhere to bring Arthur’s body back.

They make a habit of staying in contact after that. Or better put, Eames makes a habit of calling Arthur every three to four weeks to see if Cobb’s gotten them killed already. He’s heard some crazy stuff about them and if even half of it is true he stands in awe.  On the other hand, nobody sane would attempt some of the stuff they’ve pulled off.

“Hello, darling,” he says into his phone. It’s early morning in Prague, but he has no idea where Arthur’s right now. It doesn’t matter anyway, because not once did Arthur fail to pick up when it’s Eames that calls.

“Didn’t I tell you to stop calling me that?” Arthur sighs and Eames picks up the tiredness in his voice.

“Didn’t I tell you that I’m the epitome of stubbornness, and that I like calling you that?” Arthur snorts. “So, tell me, love, where are you? How are you?”

“I can’t tell you where we are right now,” Arthur says, and Eames sits straighter in his cozy armchair.

“Why? What’s wrong?”

“Our last job didn’t pan out like I’d expected,” Arthur says in a strained voice.

“What happened?” Eames asks and tries not to imagine a hurt Arthur somewhere in a back alley all alone. “Is Cobb with you?”

“Yeah … he’s sleeping.”

At least that’s something, Eames thinks and exhales his held breath. But Arthur’s a fool if he thinks Eames doesn’t notice that he’s avoiding the important questions. Which can only mean one thing: it was Cobb who messed up and put them in danger.

“What did he do?” Eames asks with barely concealed anger.

“Who?”

“Oh come on, Arthur. Cobb, of course! I thought he’d been better in the last months. Did you lie about that?”

“What? No, of course not!” Arthur’s voice starts to rise only to end in a whisper when he realizes he could wake Cobb with it.

“Then what? Did he just decide that both of your lives aren’t worth it anymore?”

“No, it’s not like that … it’s … “ Arthur sounds worn thin, “Mal’s been dead a year now.”

“Oh,” Eames says slowly, because he hadn’t paid attention to the date.

“Yeah … ” Arthur trails off. For a minute or so Eames can only hear his soft breath over the speaker. And he knows his next words will be futile, but he can’t help it.

“If it’s so bad he’s putting you all in danger, maybe you should start thinking about -- “

Arthur cuts him off sharply. “Don’t.”

“But -- ”

“No,” Arthur’s voice is only a whisper now. “I can’t leave him. You _told_ me it’s where I belong.”

Eames winces. Yes, he did tell him that a long time ago, but he hadn’t meant for Arthur to stay with someone who’d ultimately fall into the abyss and take Arthur with him. “Love, one day he’s going to get you killed.”

“I can’t,” he says again, and Eames notices that he doesn’t contradict him. He swallows hard. “You don’t understand,” Arthur continues. “He … Mal, they saved me. I wouldn’t be alive if it weren’t for them.”

“Darling, surely you -- “

“No, I wouldn’t,” Arthur interrupts him again. “I owe it to him -- to Mal -- to stay. They did the same for me.”

Eames really, really wants to make him believe otherwise, but he knows that this is the truth -- that the Cobbs saved Arthur in a way that bonds for life and apparently long after that. He runs a hand over his face. “At least get some sleep as well, will you? And call me if you need anything. I mean it.”

“Of course, Mr. Eames,” Arthur says and Eames hears a bemused smile in his voice.

“Take care, Arthur.”

“Always.”

\---

[after]

“I don’t know if you could be any more obvious even if you tried, honey,” he says and throws his jacket over a chair in his hotel room.

“Hmm?” Ariadne mumbles, way too busy for anything else since she’s still devouring the triple chocolate muffin Eames bought her on the way here. She manages to frown at him though, when she settles on his bed as it has become her habit the last few days.

“You didn’t stop staring at Arthur and me the whole day.”

“Huh?”

“The. Whole. Day.”

At least she has the decency to blush. “I … eh … sorry?” she says after she’s has swallowed the last of the muffin.

He sighs. “Let’s just pretend that you stared at us because we’re both really hot -- well, Arthur’s level of attraction is more a question of personal taste, I, on the other hand, am universally attractive.”

Ariadne snorts and throws a pillow at him. He gracefully ducks out of its way and thinks that he really needs to have a talk with her about throwing stuff at him. It’s not a very nice habit of hers. “It’s not that … I just wanted to see if --  you know what, forget it.”

“If what? Come on, now I’m curious. If we share lingering glances full of longing?”

Here comes the other pillow. “Don’t be silly. No, but if you really want to know it … if there’s any obvious sign that -- ”

“That we had sex?”

“Eames!” she growls at him. “But yes, if there’s any sign that would give you away.”

He blinks at her. “I don’t understand,” he finally says and is pretty sure that he would have to catch yet another pillow if there were any left within Ariadne’s reach.

“So that Cobb would know something’s up, of course!”

It takes his brain a second to catch up with her logic. “Honey, Cobb _does_ know.”

“Huh?”

He smirks because it’s not often he makes her lose her capability to form a perfectly mean and elegant comeback for him. “Arthur told him,” he explains.

“And he’s still working with you?” she asks incredulously.

“Now I’m insulted. I’m the best in business, after all, honey.”

She stands up and pats him on the head with a smile before she goes to the bathroom. He feels a little bit patronized.

[before]

The truth is that Cobb doesn’t work with Eames for three jobs after Arthur has told him. Of course, Eames doesn’t realize that at first. Cobb has his kids back, and it’s only natural that he doesn’t take on as much jobs as before. What Eames doesn’t take into account is that Cobb can stay away from dreams as well as Ariadne can -- which is to say that he can’t stay away from them at all.

So Cobb doesn’t ask him to work with them not because he doesn’t have jobs, but because he’s angry with him. It’s only when Arthur finds out what’s the matter and they have a less than pleasant fight about it that Eames gets to know the whole truth.

The realization that he’s missing something starts when Cobb stands right in front of him as he opens his apartment door -- and seriously, how did he find him in Charleston of all places? It only fosters his suspicion that Arthur had him secretly implanted with a tracking device.

He wants to say Hello, but then he sees the look on Cobb’s face and it reminds him of that one time he met Cobb’s fist in a rather unpleasant way. Cautiously, he takes a step back into his floor.

“You slept with Arthur,” is all that Cobb says and it doesn’t take much imagination on Eames’ part to see himself with a brilliant new shiner. It would probably be a wise move to close the door, but it’s entirely too muggy for him to be clever. What was he thinking to spend the August in Charleston? Nothing, that’s what he was thinking.

“Which isn’t news,” he says the first thing on his mind. It turns out that’s not exactly the right thing to say at this particular moment in time, judging by how Cobb’s face clouds even more.

“How could you?” Cobb says accusatory and walks right past Eames into the apartment. At least one of them has enough brain capacity left to foresee that this is not a conversation Eames’ neighbors should be privy to. Eames shuts the door and follows Cobb into his messy living room. If Cobb finds it unsettling to have to see Eames’ underwear he doesn’t show it. In any case he looks more disgusted with Eames himself than with anything else.

“How could I sleep with him?” Eames runs a hand through his hair. He entirely misses the fleeting thought about why on earth Arthur would tell Cobb something like this. “Well, I really hope I don’t need to explain the biology involved in this -- “ And there it comes, the new shiner. Eames stumbles a few steps backwards against the coffee table and seriously reconsiders his working relationship with Cobb when his favorite Chinese teacup takes a tumble over the edge of the table and shatters. “You bloody bastard! What was that for now?” he yells and clocks the other man just for the hell of it. Cobb takes it like a good soldier and yells right back at him.

“How could you use him like that right after Mal died?”

Eames doesn’t consider himself a man who’s surprised easily, he’s seen too much for that, but this one really makes him stop for a second. Then he gets angry. “Are you fucking insane, you bloody moron? Do you even _know_ why he came to me that night? Why he was so desperate for comfort and somebody to just _hold_ him? Do you have any idea how absolutely _forlorn_ he looked that night?” he says with a raised voice and pokes his finger at Cobb’s chest, who looks like he’s no idea what Eames is talking about. Eames snorts. “Of course you don’t.”

“He told me he doesn’t want to talk about it anymore,” Cobb says and for the first time sounds unsure of himself. Eames wants to throttle him.

“Sometimes you’re both so stupid I think you honestly deserve each other,” Eames murmurs. Then he sighs and slumps down on his couch, sadly staring at his broken teacup on the carpet. “It was a few weeks after Mal died. I guess you were lying around somewhere at Miles’ drunk with grief and probably more bourbon than is healthy,” he tells Cobb quietly and looks up to him. “Do you even remember that time?”

Silently, Cobb shakes his head, looking incredibly guilty.

“So don’t tell me I used Arthur. You weren’t there, and he had packed more on his shoulders than he should have,” Eames continues more sharply. “I’m not exactly proud of what we did back then, but don’t you _dare_ to tell me I used him. You have no right to do that.”

“I’m -- “

“If you say sorry I will never ever again be able to take you seriously as a team leader,” Eames cuts him off with a small smile. “And like Arthur said, it’s in the past.” He shakes his head. “Sometimes, you really should listen to your point man, you know? And now fuck off and fly back home -- and don’t forget to apologize to Arthur.”

“I won’t,” Cobb promises and leaves.

Two days later Eames receives a small package. In it is a teacup that looks exactly the same as the one that got broken during Cobb’s visit. A note is attached to it: _I’m not stupid, but thanks anyway. See you on the next job. C_


	4. Chapter 4

[after]

“I’d like to have met Mal,” Ariadne says suddenly. They’re sitting at the bank of the Seine and some leaves are caught in Ariadne’s hair. The sun is shining, but still it’s cold and the only thing warming Eames’ hands is the cup of coffee in between them. “I mean the real one. The one who Arthur says was lovely. Not the crazy bitch that stabbed me in the stomach.”

“She hurt you, too?” he asks before he can stop himself.

Ariadne turns to him and blows on her cappuccino. “She killed you?”

He shakes his head and drowns the rest of his coffee. “Not me.”

“Oh,” she says quietly and her breath forms little clouds in the cold air. The next day she brings a bewildered Arthur his favorite coffee from the shop five streets away to the workshop.

[before]

Eames really likes dreams. He likes the possibilities they offer, the endless horizon he can actually reach, the way he can combine all of his favorite places into one. What he could do without are the projections. Really, it gets really old really fast to have them practically crawl over his body. He knows he’s not known for his attention to personal space, but this goes too far. He would like to keep his jacket on, thank you very much, and where the fuck is his gun when he needs it?

Luckily, Arthur arrives just in time to shoot the projection nearest to Eames’ really, really private parts dead. The old fat guy drops like a stone and Eames is ridiculously happy that Arthur is such a good shot. “Hey, you want to take care of -- “ he starts to say, but then the blonde business woman with way too much make-up twists his arms behind his back and he groans. Another shot echoes through the barely lit alley, but it’s not the woman who drops. It’s Arthur.

“Shit,” Eames exhales when Arthur slides down the opposite wall and Mal -- and how did she get here? -- exits the shadows. She’s beautiful like she’s always been, although entirely too overdressed for this little, stinky corner of town. He’s completely stunned, because he knows for a fact that she’s dead. He has seen the trail of anguish and misery her broken body left and then some.

“Mal,” Arthur whispers sadly and clues Eames in on two facts. That Arthur’s not dead, which means the dream won’t collapse yet, and that this is not the first time Arthur’s seen Mal in a dream.

“Salut, Arthur,” Mal says and kneels down next to him on the dirty ground. Her black dress doesn’t get the tiniest stain. Arthur tries to move away from her, but stops with a pained gasp. It reminds Eames suddenly that Arthur got shot and he tries to get away from the lady with too much make up, but her grip is unrelenting. He silently curses, because he should put Arthur out of his misery. The way his chest moves every time he draws in a breath makes Eames feel nauseous. It looks as if one of his lungs collapsed and now Arthur’s drowning in his own blood.

“Mal,” Arthur repeats and Eames has to strain his ears to hear him at all. Then he wishes he didn’t have to listen, because Arthur’s voice is so full of longing and remembered joy. As if Mal didn’t just shot him, but is a cherished memory he tries his hardest not to forget.

“Shhh … it will be over soon,” Mal says gently and caresses Arthur’s cheek. “And then Dom will realize that this is all a dream. You’re holding him back, mon petit, and it’s not good for him. He needs to be with me. Surely the real Arthur would understand that, don’t you think?”

Eames sees the wet trail of tears on Arthur’s cheeks and averts his eyes. He only notices in passing when he dislocates his right shoulder trying to break free, but it’s to no avail. Arthur’s small gasps for air fill his whole being and when Mal starts to sing an old French lullaby Eames wants to throw up. It only takes a few more minutes before the dream is collapsing.

Eames still feels nauseous when he comes to with a shudder. Next to him Arthur is the picture of calm as he collects the lines of the PASIV. Two cots away Cobb wakes up, his face full of questions.

“What’s happened? I wasn’t finished -- “

“We had some trouble with my paradoxes. Sorry,” Arthur answers before Eames can utter a single syllable. Cobb frowns, but nods and gets up from the cot. Stunned, Eames looks after him, because -- honestly -- trouble with Arthur’s paradoxes seems as plausible as Eames failing to imitate someone. It doesn’t happen. Cobb has to be seriously distracted not to see the obvious flaw in this explanation.

“What’s going on?” Eames hisses at Arthur as soon as Cobb is out of ear-shot.

“I don’t know what you mean, Mr. Eames,” Arthur replies with the same aura of collected calm he always brings up when he doesn’t want to talk about something. It drives Eames insane.

“Don’t give me this bullshit. A projection of Mal _killed_ you in a dream. This isn’t normal.”

“It’s none of your business,” Arthur says, but doesn’t look at him. Nevertheless, Eames can see the rigid lines in his body, and knows that he’s onto something. He reaches out to grab Arthur’s arm and feels the tense muscles under his hand. Arthur looks ready to hit him, but Eames doesn’t back down.

“It is my business when I work with you two. I don’t want her to turn on me in the middle of a job, for God’s sake.”

“She won’t.”

“Excuse me?” He blinks and hopes to God that this doesn’t mean what he fears it means.

“She only targets me,” Arthur says quietly.

Eames lets go of Arthur’s arm and balls his hands into fists. “Shit, Arthur,” he whispers, his mind blank.

“You can leave if you want. I will find another forger,” Arthur says. “Of course you can keep the money you already got for your troubles.”

“What -- “ Eames wants to shove this stubborn bastard against the nearest wall so hard it hurts, but he only shakes his head in the end. “If I leave you need to come with me.”

“We already had this conversation, and I haven’t changed my mind.” Arthur stops for a second. “Although you’re right and Venice is beautiful this time of the year,” he adds with a small smile and the memory accompanying it momentarily distracts Eames.

“She’s hurting you and don’t tell me this was the first time,” Eames tries again.

“It’s only a dream, Mr. Eames,” Arthur says, still with that smile on his lips. As if this isn’t the reality, as if dying in a dream by the hands of a loved one over and over again doesn’t play havoc with your mind. As if any of this is sane and normal.

“Tell that Paul,” Eames shots back and smirks in cold satisfaction when Arthur loses that smile and flinches before he regains his composure.

“Goodbye, Mr. Eames,” Arthur says coldly. “I’ll tell Cobb that you have urgent business in -- “

“Mombasa,” Eames fills in the gap. He likes to pretend this doesn’t hurt at all. “And only come to me for a job if you’re ready to take care of yourself again.”

For a second Arthur looks sorry to see Eames leave, but the moment’s so fast gone Eames prefers to think he’s imagined it. It makes it easier to grab his stuff and close the door behind him on his way out.

\---

[after]

They’re wandering along the Seine, the streetlights illuminating the slowly moving water. It’s been a long day, and Ariadne is unusually calm.

“What’s up, honey?” Eames finally asks and gently nudges her into the side.

“It’s … “ she sighs and slowly releases the air in her lungs. “I can’t stop thinking about Mal. I’m sorry, it’s stupid.”

“No, it’s not,” Eames reassures her and draws his arm around her shoulders. “And you would have liked her, I’m sure. She was a lot like you, actually. Minus the crazy of course,” he adds and smiles at her.

“Oh, good to know,” she huffs, but can’t help but smile back at him.

“Thought you would want to know,” he replies with a smirk. He stares at the other side of the riverbank for a moment before he speaks again. “Mal, she was proud and determined. Wouldn’t take crap from anybody, but she was also a kind soul. And she loved Cobb and Arthur and her kids with all her heart.”

[before] 

He likes Mal. He really does. He has no idea how somebody like Cobb could end up with such a beautiful and intelligent woman like Mal, but he has Arthur to poke fun at so he doesn’t think too much about it. He’s fairly content to spend his days like this, because Arthur’s around and he’s a fun target. He replies with condescending sarcasm to any quip of Eames, growls and turns around, straightens his tie and tries to look older than Eames. It’s an endless source for amusement, and because he has only the barest grip on what makes Arthur the man he is, he has infinite possibilities to joke about him and his past. That is until Mal, beautiful and oh so tempting Mal, takes him to the side one evening after Cobb and Arthur have vanished to research some more.

“Do you have a minute, Mr. Eames?” she asks and her tone makes it clear that he better makes room for her in his schedule.

“Of course, Mrs. Cobb,” he answers and tries very hard not to take a step back from her. Although the warm smile is still plastered to her face, it suddenly has a hard edge to it. He didn’t know that she can look so threatening.

“I won’t beat around the bush,” she says. “I like you, Mr. Eames,” and for a moment there he thinks she’s coming on to him. “But if you make one more suggestive comment about Arthur’s past or his family, I will unfortunately have to shoot you.” She leans forward and whispers. “And it won’t be in a dream.”

He stares at her in silent horror and gulps. That, he hadn’t seen coming, and he wonders what inspires this kind of devotion and intensity he sees in the eyes of Mal. It sparks a curiosity he can nearly taste, but he’s not a fool enough to ask her.

“Do we understand each other?” she asks quietly.

“As clear as day,” he replies and earns a small smile from Mal.

“Bien. Have a good night, Mr. Eames.”

\---

[after]

His phone rings at an ungodly hour, and he curses in several languages when he turns to his nightstand to grab it.

“This better be good,” he says and his voice is rough from sleep.

“They want us to babysit.”

“Huh? Who’s that?”

“Ariadne, who else?” she sounds genuinely surprised that he even has to asks. He rolls his eyes.

“Oh, I don’t know … maybe the person who wants to earn my eternal wrath for waking me up?”

“Why would you sleep -- oh. You’re not in Mombasa anymore?”

He rolls his eyes. “No, honey, from time to time I still do jobs somewhere else.”

“But Cobb didn’t … “ she trails of, sounding embarrassed. He has the odd urge to hug her.

“No, he didn’t call, but Hannah did. I’m in Sao Paulo right now.”

“Hannah also,” she repeats dully.

“It’s as boring as ever, really,” he feels the need to reassure her. “So, what about this babysitting job I hear? Did we decide to go legal all of the sudden?”

“No, Arthur called and asked.”

“He did what? Wait, is there no babysitter left in the area of Frisco that these kids haven’t scared away? Are we their last and only hope for a free evening?”

She giggles. “Don’t be silly … but to be honest, now that you ask … I have no idea why he called me.”

Eames does have an idea, but if he were to tell Ariadne would just squeak and scream really loud and it’s just too early for this. Better to let her find out on her own. “And did darling really ask for me as well? Or are you just scared to face this alone?”

“He did ask for you … well, he said -- quote -- you can bring the fashion offense with you if he promises not to go shopping with the kids,” she says and has the audacity to laugh at him.

“Ha ha,” he growls. “So, when do we have the honor?”

“The weekend at the end of the month … if you’re not tied up with _Hannah_.”

“We should be done here in a few days, which I’m glad for. I wouldn’t be able to stand these people any longer,” he says and doesn’t call them a team, because they’re so far away from his definition of a team they could be Martians.

“That bad, huh?”

“Like you wouldn’t believe. Hannah’s point man wouldn’t recognize a joke if it hits him with a club. Seriously, compared to him Arthur is the standup comedian of the year, if not of the century. And don’t get me started on Hannah -- I probably should just stop working with her altogether. She spends half our meetings explaining how absolutely awesome she is at extracting. As if I couldn’t judge for myself that she has nothing on Cobb. And then there’s Pedro,” he breathes a long suffering sigh.

“The architect?”

“He wishes,” he corrects her. “That guy gets lost in his _own_ mazes. Repeatedly. How is that even possible?” he complains. Her laugh echoes bright and cheerful and he can’t help but smile.

[before] 

Arthur calls him, which -- admittedly -- isn’t that odd, considering that Eames has worked with him and the Cobbs several jobs by now. The last one had been a test run for some institute with a forgettable name some months earlier.

“Hi, Arthur,” he says and leans back in his chair with a glass of boukha. It’s hot outside the small café in Tunis, but he likes the way the sun warms his skin and his bones after he’s spent a month in Canada freezing his toes off.

“They’re insane,” is Arthur’s choice of an opener, which _is_ odd. Eames stares at the boukha to see if he’s already drunk more than he thought. He hasn’t.

“Darling, go back to the start of this conversation and clue me in, okay?”

“Mal and Cobb -- they’re insane! They want me to be the _godfather_.” Arthur sounds only seconds away from hysteria, and Eames isn’t sure how to respond. Arthur doesn’t call him for personal stuff. They’re not that close. He calls him for jobs, and Eames takes him up on these offers because it’s nice to do something legal for a change from time to time.

“Eh … Congratulations?” he finally says and wonders why he’s the receiver of this call. Doesn’t Arthur has real friends to talk with -- probably not, Eames sadly realize a moment later.

“Have you gone batshit crazy as well?” Arthur nearly yells and Eames just knows he must show a ridiculous face right now. For starters, Arthur doesn’t yell, and he doesn’t curse either -- at least not when Eames can hear him. “I can’t be the godfather.”

“Why not?” he asks and drowns half of his glass. He doesn’t want to be the only sane in this conversation.

“Because …. because, shit, Eames -- it doesn’t work that way. You don’t let some ex-military who’s been high on pain meds be the possible guardian of your unborn child.”

“You’re not high now, are you?”

“What? -- “

 “Or do you plan on getting high anytime today, the next month or in the next years?” he asks calmly.

“Of course not!”

“Then I don’t see a problem here, darling,” he says. “So yeah, you’ve been through some shit, but you go to work every morning, you’re not so bad at it, sometimes you even laugh. You’re a nice person.”

“My mom was a nice person, but that doesn’t mean she was fit to take care of a child,” Arthur says heatedly, and Eames straightens in his chair. That’s the most he’s learned about Arthur’s past before the Army since he’s known the other man, and he’s pretty sure he wasn’t supposed to hear this. There’s silence on the other side of the line, because obviously Arthur’s realized what he had just blurted out.

“Nobody is their parents,” Eames finally says in a gentle tone. He doesn’t want to spook Arthur, and he has the feeling that this conversation is way more important than a lot of others he’d with Arthur. “And if you really don’t want to be the godfather of the half-pint than that’s okay.”

“I can’t screw this up,” Arthur says quietly and there’s a hint of desperation in his voice that makes Eames’ stomach squeeze. “This is too important. Mal and Cobb … they’re … ” Arthur draws a shuddering breath while Eames runs a finger over the rim of his glass. He’s got a feeling about the fears Arthur isn’t putting into words.

“Darling, if they’ve asked you to be the godfather of their firstborn you _are_ family. You can’t screw this even if you tried. You _belong_ there,” he emphasizes. There’s such a long pause after this that Eames begins to think that Arthur has ended the call.

“It’s a girl,” Arthur finally whispers, and Eames can _hear_ the soft smile on his lips.

“She will love you for your fashion sense alone,” Eames can’t help but tease.

“Shut up.”

“You’re welcome.”

\---

[after]

Turns out they’re babysitting because it’s Arthur’s birthday on Sunday, and Cobb took them both to a hotel, to do things that Eames does not want to know about. They’re all supposed to meet again in a nice restaurant on Sunday evening, which means everyone has to put on their best clothing -- even the kids.

Everything’s been fine so far this weekend. The kids are fun to be around (leaving aside the obligatory “I don’t wanna eat that!” and “I don’t like James anymore.”), they spend Saturday choosing presents for Arthur, and it’s refreshing to be surrounded by people Eames actually likes and doesn’t want to throttle the moment they open their mouths.

It’s not so much fun anymore when it’s time to convince James to put on his dark blue shirt and the black trousers. 

“Oh, come on, little man, we don’t -- “

“I’m not little anymore!” James lectures him and wiggles once again out of his trousers. Eames sighs and hangs his head. He’s braved the underworld of London, mocked the British Army, and relieved half of Europe’s idiots of their pocket money, and now he’s getting defeated by a little kid. Arthur will never let him live this down.

“Ariiiiii, help would be nice!” Eames finally yells through the open door and hopes that she’s done getting Philippa in her dress.

“What, overpowered by my favorite boy, are you?” she taunts him when she comes through the door and he forgets the proper response when he sees her. Ariadne doesn’t look like herself at all. She’s wearing a green, strapless dress, and it looks fantastic on her. She’s still barefoot and strands of hair are already falling out of her pinned-up hair when she bends down to convince James to finally get dressed. “Eames, you okay?” She asks once James is ready to go.

“Huh?” He shakes his head. “Why do you ask?”

“You had this zoned out look in your eyes.” She squints. “You don’t plan on ruining Arthur’s birthday by changing back into paisley, do you?” She asks and smoothens the wrinkles out of the black jacket he’s wearing over a white shirt – the only present Arthur request was for Eames to dress more fashionably.

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he answers. “Cobb would probably kill me.”

“Right,” she says with a smile. “Then let’s go. The kids are ready.”

[before]

“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t shut the door and pretend not to know you,” Arthur hisses after a moment of complete surprise to find Eames on the doorsteps of Cobb’s former home. Eames is tempted to say ‘Love you, too’, but with their history that probably wouldn’t go over too well.

Also, he’s way too distracted by Arthur’s clothes to think of a witty retort. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen Arthur in a hoodie. It’s entirely too big for Arthur and the French writing on it is nearly gone, but it has the washed out look of something that is so loved it will be worn until it dissolves.

“I was in the area and wanted to say hello,” Eames finally explains with a shrug. He also wanted to see the home Cobb and Arthur are doing all these dangerous jobs for, but some things are better left unsaid.

“I swear, if you brought a job to these steps I’m going to kill everybody who’s gunning for you just so I can take the pleasure in killing you myself,” he says, and Eames believes every word. He raises his hand in defeat.

“Honest to God, no job. Nobody is after me. I wouldn’t put the kids in danger.” Right on cue a little girl with dark blonde hair appears behind Arthur in the doorway and looks with big round eyes up to Eames.

“Uncle Arthur, who’s that?” she asks in a small voice and grabs the fabric of Arthur’s pants.

“That, Peanut, is a friend of your daddy’s and mine. His name is Eames,” he explains and takes Philippa up in his arms. “Don’t you want to say hello to him?”

She plays with her long hair for a moment before she stretches out her little hand so Eames can shake it. “Hello, Mr. Eames,” she finally says shyly. It’s so cute Eames literally feels his heart melt.

“Hello, Peanut. Nice to meet you,” he says and the next thing he knows is that Philippa glares at him. Puzzled, he looks at Arthur and earns a knowing smile, but no help. “I’m sorry, did I say something wrong?” he asks in his sweetest voice.

“Only Uncle Arthur gets to call me Peanut,” Philippa explains as if that’s the most obvious thing in the world. For a five-year old it probably is.

“Oh, sorry, of course, I’ll remember this, Philippa.”

“Peanut,” Arthur interrupts their talk and Eames could swear he hears the smugness in Arthur’s voice when he calls the little girl by her nickname, “didn’t I tell you not to leave your brother by himself?”

“But James wanted to make a cake in the sandpit and I’m wearing my new clothes! He would have gotten mud all over them. And I want real cake,” she complains and Eames can’t help but smile at the long suffering sigh Arthur exhales. He’s betting all the money from his last job that she went shopping with Arthur.

“Then we will just have to bake real cake, won’t we? At least that should be a sufficient reason to get your new clothes dirty” Arthur suggests and turns to the door. “Are you coming or what?” he asks Eames over his shoulder.

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Eames answers with the biggest grin.


	5. Chapter 5

[after]

It’s entirely too hot to do anything besides breathe, but nobody had listened to Eames when he suggested that working a job in Charleston in June probably isn’t the wisest idea. Not even Cobb, who for sure should have known better, but in the last week or so Eames has started to suspect something. Only he isn’t sure that heat actually works as a diversion, it only makes everything even more tense and unbearable in his mind. Nevertheless he tries his best to be amiable and be the professional that made him the best forger in the world.

“Okay, I got the permission, now -- whatever it is -- you’ve got to tell me,” Ariadne says and it speaks volume about how the heat is affecting him that he’s momentarily forgotten she’s accompanying him on trailing their mark. Currently they’re sitting in the White Point Gardens and wait for their mark to leave a shop again. “The weather is way too crazy to think for myself.”

“What permission?” he asks absent-minded and takes the ice cone she’s offering him.

“The permission Arthur gave me to ask you why you’re so nice all of a sudden,” she explains, and he stops and stares at her. They can’t be that obvious, right? “And why Cobb gives us way more free time on this job than normal. I’ve even had time to visit Boone Hall Plantation -- that’s beyond freaky.” She shakes her head.

“Arthur knows?” he asks perplexed. Ariadne smiles and pats his head.

“Of course, you two couldn’t be more obvious if you wore neon green jumpsuits. You brought him his favorite blend of coffee all whole week. He never leaves Cobb’s sight.” Eames winces when he hears that. Not that he didn’t know that already, but put in actual words it makes him wonder why Arthur didn’t yet lock them in Fort Sumter and throw the key in the harbor. “Don’t worry,” Ariadne says amused, “he doesn’t mind … much. He says it’s nice to know that you care enough to worry -- oh, I probably shouldn’t have told you that.”

“Never mind, honey. I won’t tell him,” he says and means it. It’s not the right time to poke fun at Arthur. Ariadne grows serious again when she sees his expression.

“So, let me in into the secret.”

“It’s not my place to -- “

“Arthur said to me you can tell me,” she interrupts him and raises two fingers. “Scout’s honor. I asked him first, because he’s usually the one who has all the answers and doesn’t mind explaining, but this time -- ” she stops for a second and stares at the ocean. “He looked sad, Eames. He smiled, but his heart wasn’t in it. And he said that he can’t tell me … and it didn’t sound like he’s not allowed to, more like it’s -- “ She’s searching for the right words and runs her hands through her hair.

“Like it hurts too much,” Eames says softly and she nods with her shoulders slumped.

“Yes … so, what is it? Is it going to be okay?” she asks with a hopeful tinge to her voice, and he can’t help but stroke over the back of her hand resting on the bench.

“It’s not something that will ever be okay, honey, he just learnt to live with it,” he explains quietly and leans back against the bench. “Let me tell you about Paul.”

[before]

Eames doesn’t know Paul’s name when he sees him the first time. He mistakes him for just another projection Arthur’s mind came up with. Paul is so ordinary, Eames barely notices him at first inside the dream. It’s one of his first jobs with the Cobb now that they’ve hired Arthur. It’s weird, and Eames probably should’ve thought about this before recommending Arthur to the Cobbs, but what’s done is done. And it’s not as if Arthur does a bad job or anything, it’s just that the memory Eames has of the other man doesn’t quite match the Arthur he shares a dream with now. This new Arthur is more withdrawn than Eames remembers, and there’s something about him Eames can’t put his finger on, like an added layer that shuts more people out than lets them in. The Cobbs seem to be the glorious exception from the rule, and it throws Eames a bit off balance. Normally, he’s the one who can charm everyone’s pants off, but not so with Arthur. From the look of it, Arthur would do anything for the Cobbs, but brings Eames coffee only if he is terribly ill.

Currently, they’re trying to build a military base inside a dream, and because Eames feels decidedly bastardly that day he lets Arthur do all the work and wanders around criticizing a thing here or there. He only stops once Mal shoots him a disapproving look, and he respects that woman too much to cross her.

“I think our client can work perfectly well with this,” she praises Arthur, who blushes a little. It’s adorable and Eames snorts. However, he has to admit it, that there’s nothing in this dream that would tip him off that this isn’t reality.

Turns out, this is exactly the problem.

Because Paul, well, he’s not exactly a projection, but a memory. And everybody knows that you don’t use memories to build a dream, but Arthur’s new to dreambuilding and apparently hasn’t come to that particular lesson yet. They’re inside one of the barracks of the compound, when Paul turns up. He mingles with the other projections in military uniform and nobody notices him until he shoots five of the projections. Eames’ head snaps up, but he doesn’t know what to do -- because this? He’s never seen something like this before and he feels the bile rise at the scene in front of him. Projections don’t go around shooting other projections. They’re also not pointing their weapon at their creators.

“Paul,” Arthur whispers petrified and that he can actually put a name to that projection means that this job has gone to hell in an instant.

“We have to wake up, Arthur,” Paul says with determination. “This is not real.” He points at the lifeless projections lying on the floor, at the blood pooling around his feet. “They’re not real.”

“But they are, Paul,” Arthur says and raises his hands in a calming gesture.

“Arthur,” Eames tries to interject, but he seems to be completely invisible to both Arthur and Paul. He silently wishes for Cobb or Mal to show up, because he has no clue how to handle this.

“Paul, give me the weapon. Please,” Arthur begs and determinedly keeps his eyes trained on Paul and not on the dead soldiers on the ground.

“You don’t understand! This is a test, Arthur! And we can’t fail. We have to get back home,” Paul screams and gets more and more agitated. “I’m doing you a favor, you’ll thank me later. You _all_ will thank me later.”

“No, you – “ Arthur doesn’t get to finish that sentence. Paul shoots, but his aim is off and he hits Arthur’s right leg.

“Bloody hell!” Eames yells and tries to get to Arthur’s collapsed form on the ground. However, it’s this second he remembers why Arthur left a lasting impression. He’s never seen anyone better at creating paradoxes inside a dream, and apparently Arthur’s subconscious has decided that this is the exact right moment to keep Eames trapped behind an invisible wall. And if this isn’t fucked up, then Eames doesn’t know anymore.

“Paul, don’t … please, call help,” Arthur pants through clenched teeth and tries to rob to the door. Pain and blood loss stop him, however. His hands are clenched around his thigh, but it doesn’t help much. He’s slowly bleeding to death and Eames can’t help but watch this horrifying memory play out in front of his eyes.

“It will be over soon, or I can just shoot you for real this time,” Paul says in a sickening offer of humanity.

“No!” Arthur looks up at him, a horrified look on his face. “Stay away from me! This is the reality! You’re _not_ dreaming!”

Paul hesitates in his forward movement towards Arthur, and for the first time he looks as if he has doubts. “No, no, you’re wrong, Arthur,” he replies slowly, unsure. “The dreamsharing fucked you up, but I _know_ this isn’t what – “

Mal and Cobb, oblivious to the situation, entering the room and the starting music cue set a sequence in motion that happens too fast for Eames to really register. Only later he will realize that Paul aimed to shoot at the Cobbs and that Arthur used that momentary lapse in focus to grab his weapon and shoot Paul instead.

Never before has Eames’ heart beaten this fast when he woke up from a dream.

“Arthur, Arthur! Merde! Arthur, hey, mon petit … listen to me. Eames? What the hell happened down there?” It’s Mal’s frantic voice which yanks Eames out of his stupor, and he turns around to see Mal hovering over a distraught Arthur.

“Who was that other guy?” Cobb barks. “Why does Arthur’s own projection try to kill him?”

“It wasn’t a projection, it was a memory,” Eames corrects him absent-minded, his eyes trained on Arthur, who still has trouble calming down and catching his breath. Mal has taken his hands in her own and put them on her chest.

“Breathe with me, mon petit. You’re okay, you’re safe. This is the reality. Reality, not a dream. Breathe with me. In. Out. In. Out. You’re safe with us,” Mal whispers in that calm, soft voice of hers.

“Fuck,” is the only word Arthur gets out after quite some time, his chest still heaving and he hides his eyes under the loose strands of hair.

“Nothing to be ashamed of, Arthur. It happens to the best of us,” Cobb reassures him.

“That’s right, mon petit,” Mal confirms and runs her fingers through Arthur’s hair. “We’ll think of something so this doesn’t happen again, though. Something that tells us if we’re inside a dream or not.”

“Good idea,” Eames says, but nobody really registers that he said something. He feels oddly redundant in this moment, but that’s okay. It tells him that Arthur’s found his place.

\---

[after]

Admittedly, it’s something that Eames should have recognized way earlier. Maybe a year ago or so -- he’s not really fond of the notion that it goes back even further.

It hits him on a cold, gray November morning around eleven o’clock, and he nearly drops the phone when he realizes it. They’re on the run, which isn’t really common for them anymore with the jobs they take on after Cobb has returned to his kids, but from time to time it happens. And when he says on the run he means it. Literal. There’s a faint ache in his calves, and he can practically feel the blood pumping through his veins. It was a long run through the cold until they had reached the hideout Arthur had prepared just in case years ago for another job. It’s in an abandoned children’s hospital, and it’s creepy as hell. Nevertheless, Eames admires Arthur for having kept it in shape for all these years.

“This is creepy,” he informs Arthur the moment he steps over the threshold of one of the old patient rooms. There’s only one bed in the room, a desk and a chair. Through the window he can see yellow leaves falling down to the frozen ground. Spartans would appreciate the ambience, he thinks.

“You can go out and buy scented candles if you like,” Arthur retorts and the barely audible hitch in his voice makes Eames turn around. Ariadne rushes past him and from the corner of his eyes he sees she’s getting comfortable on the wide windowsill. Silly girl likes the fall. Someday he has to have a talk with her about it. But it’s Arthur who commands his attention now, because there’s a frown on his face that has nothing to do with the job gone wrong and everything with the long run and a cold. He’d had a cold the whole job through and the sudden exercise hasn’t done anything good for it judging from the way Arthur looks. Him leaning ever so slightly against Cobb doesn’t help to promote the image of perfect health. Eames is about to embark on the epic battle of the wills to get Arthur to settle down when Cobb spares him the trouble.

“Sit down, will you?” their team leader quietly asks Arthur. It’s almost funny to see the conflicting emotions reflecting on Arthur’s face, but eventually he nods. Eames doubts that he would have been able to keep upright any longer anyway. He’s noticed the slight tremble in Arthur’s right leg and knows that the old wound is acting up again. Arthur only half manages to hide the relieved sigh when the weight is taken off his legs.

“We need to organize a different travel route. They’re probably at the airport waiting for us,” Arthur explains and rubs a hand over his tired face.

“Oh oh -- “Ariadne exclaims suddenly and is practically jumping through the room to Arthur’s side. Eames shakes his head to check reality, but yes, she has raised her hand and is waving with it. “Can I do that? Pleaaaase?” She sounds so genuinely excited that Arthur hands her his smart phone without a hint of resistance. She snaps it happily and wanders back to the windowsill.

“I hope she doesn’t buy us tickets to Mumbai,” Cobb murmurs, still perplexed.

“Hey, at least it would be warm there,” Eames argues. He really should make it a rule never to work somewhere it gets below zero. He just isn’t cut out for the cold. “Next job is somewhere with at least ten degrees, I insist,” he says to Arthur in an attempt to distract him from his leg.

“I will make it Saint Petersburg just for you,” Arthur replies with a small smile around his clenched teeth and Eames groans in played annoyance. He’s sure that Arthur won’t be that cruel -- well, he’s mostly sure.

“I’m going to make sure the little girl sends you both where penguins live,” he says and ignores Arthur’s smirk. The bastard knows he can never remember if they live at the North or South Pole.

“Do that,” Cobb says, and Eames nods at him. He knows Arthur’s in good hands. So he drags the chair over to the windowsill and helps Ariadne find them a way out of the city.

It’s half an hour later, around eleven o’clock, and he Eames has the phone now – he’s trying to show Ariadne the location of a fantastic ice cream shop in Chinatown, NYC, on Google Maps, when he looks up because a flash sunlight irritates him. He sees Arthur half curled around Cobb on the bed, sleeping. Sometime ago Cobb had shed his jacket and thrown it over Arthur, because their point man can’t sleep without a blanket. Now Cobb is reading one of the dossiers Arthur had collected for the job, one hand resting on Arthur’s cramped leg, providing the only source of warmth he can for the taut muscles. Next to Eames, Ariadne waits, and breathing against the window glass to draw mazes into the condensation.

He thinks about all of this and that’s when it’s hits him. This is not only his team, this is his _family_. Otherwise Arthur wouldn’t let exhaustion and pain get the better of him and submit to much needed sleep -- he does so because he trusts them. And Eames trusts all of them as well, he realizes. He trusts them all without a doubt. He trusts that Arthur will keep an eye out for him and barrel down doors if necessary; he trusts that Cobb will get what they need to complete the job and that he’s done putting them all at risks; he trusts Ariadne to build breathtaking levels and to get drunk with him afterwards and never share one of his many spilled secrets.

“Shit,” he breathes. He’s screwed.

“Did you find it?” Ariadne asks and leans over to him. She smiles enthusiastically at him, and the sunlight shimmers through her hair. No dream could be as perfect as this, he thinks for a moment, and really doesn’t mind being part of this family.

[before] 

Eames is sitting on a bench at Victoria Embankment eating fish and chips when he gets the call.

“Eames, I’m seriously reconsidering our working relationship,” says Cobb with an annoyed tone in his voice.

“That’s too bad, considering that I’m the best in what I do,” Eames replies without missing a beat, although he has no clue how he deserves the honor.

“Maybe, but you’re crap in giving hiring advice. This Arthur kid you recommended is a mess.”

“Huh?” Eames vaguely remembers a phone call a week ago or so, when Cobb had asked him to point him to somebody who could help out the Cobbs with the grittier details of their research. Arthur’s was the first name that had come to his mind.

“Arthur? You remember him? Military background and so on … “ Of course Eames remembers him, Arthur’s first impression was priceless after all, because the first glimpse of him Eames caught of him during his tour of the military base was Arthur retching in a bucket. Arthur had been their resident scientists’ guinea pig for the right mix of Somnacin, and the British Army had been very interested in whatever information Eames could get them about it.

“What’s up with him?” Eames asks and leaves his chips be. This sounds interesting, because he remembers Arthur as being sharp, smart and as somebody who would fit in perfectly with the Cobbs. There had been no love lost between Arthur and Eames, but he appreciates someone who can hold his end of the conversation and shoot you in a dream when you didn’t even realize there’s another person in it.

“I have no idea, but he’s not in the military anymore. Got discharged about a year ago because of serious injury, my sources tell me. Now he files books in a library and it seems as if he’s manipulating his drug prescriptions.”

“Bugger, I didn’t know that,” Eames tells him honestly.

“Oh, good to know,” Cobb replies sarcastically. “Otherwise I’d have seriously debated your judgment telling me his name when I asked for a _reliable_ assistant.”

“And now you’re calling me only because you want to complain?”

“No,” Cobb exhales. “Mal wants him.”                                                       

“As in … ?”

“As in _as an assistant_.”

“Ah.” Eames can’t help but smile. If Arthur’s really gone off the reservation, Mal is exactly the right person to rein him in again. “And she has you totally smitten, so you can’t argue against her?”

“She gave him two months to get his act together.”

“Honestly, Cobb,” Eames says and begins to feed the doves with the cold chips, “I think he will get it done, and then you’ll have the best assistant in the world.”

“I hope you’re right.”

“I’m pretty sure I am.” Eames smiles. “You will never want to part with him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Looveeinthesky](http://loobeeinthesky.livejournal.com/) made lovely [fanart for a scene in this chapter.](http://i177.photobucket.com/albums/w207/Hope_Calaris/Livejournal/cobbarthurforhope.jpg)


	6. Chapter 6

[the other before]

It’s springtime in New York City, and Ariadne sits on the windowsill, imagining the smell of the first spring flowers waving through the open window. The air is crisp and prickles on her skin, but she breathes deep because it feels refreshing after the long flight from Paris. She closes her eyes and hears Arthur walking from the adjoining room through the shared door into her bedroom.

“Ariadne, you think we should order room -- “ Arthur stops as sudden as he started the sentence when he sees where she’s sitting. She turns around when she hears the change in his voice and opens her eyes to the uneasy look on his face. It only takes her a second to realize that sitting on the windowsill of an open window in the 21st floor of a hotel in New York maybe wasn’t one of her brightest idea. She slides off it in a smooth motion and closes the window.

“Room service sounds fantastic, but not too much … I want to enjoy the dinner in this exclusive restaurant you booked us a table in,” she replies and smiles when he chuckles.

“Of course. Just watch that you don’t overdo it, otherwise you’ll rather roll than walk around the museum tomorrow,” he teases and bows down to her, laugh lines around his eyes. She smirks and nudges the tip of his nose.

She loves this, the banter between them, how easy it is to spend time with him, the way the tension bleeds out of him the more time he spends away from a job. She loves being with Cobb and his children, because she doesn’t have to be the adult there and can indulge in building sand castles all day long. She loves being with Eames, because he shows her places she would never have dreamt of and having him along for the ride means never knowing where you will wake up the next morning. But it’s something special with Arthur every time, he takes her out to posh restaurants and they get dressed up for them. They both love museums and this is why they’ve met in New York this time.

“I’ll be careful -- “ she is interrupted when the room service announces itself from the other side of the door. She’s distracted from the jetlag and the prospect of a good meal and generally feels so at ease that she doesn’t stop to think that they haven’t ordered yet.

The next thing she knows is an arm around her neck and the unwelcome feeling of a gun pressed to her temple. She sees Arthur going for his own weapon, but then the gun digs harder into her skin.

“Move and she’ll die,” the man holding her says with so much calm in his voice as if he knows how this will play out. Ariadne wants to yell at him, scream that he hasn’t the foggiest and that Arthur will kicks his butt, but the arm around her throat makes it impossible to do anything but to concentrate on drawing one breath after the next. And then, more men in ridiculously black leather outfits swam their hotel room like a silent bee swarm, and she sees Arthur’s eyes flickering from one to the other, ready to defend himself and she silently cheers him on, but then his eyes settles on her and all of the fight leaves him. His shoulders slump and he spreads his fingers to show his defeat. She hasn’t seen him looking this devastated since … no, she’s never seen him like this.

“She’s got nothing to do with this. It’s me you want, let her go.”

“Njet,” the guy holding her hostage bellows and Arthur’s eyes widen for the fraction of a second. Like he’s realizing something that makes no sense to Ariadne. “Arms in front of you, bop, and if you resists little girl here will pay the price.”

Arthur doesn’t hesitate for a second to follow his orders, and Ariadne doesn’t know if she’s sobbing out of relief or anger. They handcuff Arthur and throw one of his suit jackets over his arms to cover it. The gun pressed to her temple wanders further down and is now pressing against the small of her back. The guy holding it stands so close that for bystanders it will look like they’re an overly affectionate couple. Ariadne gags at that thought. She’s so furious she’s ready to kick him in the shin, but a barely noticeable shake of Arthur’s head stops her. So she takes a deep breath and tries to calm down when the guy -- she’s named him Boris in the meantime -- nudges her in the back to get moving. They leave the suite, Arthur separated from her by some goons, go down the floor and take the elevator. The music playing in the cramped space is so ridiculously calm it makes Ariadne giggle. It doesn’t fit the situation, but Arthur bestows a small smile upon her, and she just knows that he will get them out of this sooner or later. She trusts him.

“Remember, you try something, she dies,” Boris says to Arthur once again, showing a sickening smile, just before the elevator doors open to the lobby of the hotel. Arthur nods curtly, and then they make their way outside to a black van. Once inside, Ariadne doesn’t even have time to look around for Arthur, before she doesn’t know anything anymore.

\---

Eames has a good day, really. He’s slept in, played checkers with Yusuf, stroke Yusuf’s cat, and gone shopping. He even got Ariadne’s favorite tea for when she’s coming to visit him in two days. She will be delighted, hug him, and forget all the fancy stuff Arthur showed her in New York. Yes, Eames thinks when he settles on the couch of his apartment, this is a good day.

So it’s not really fair of Cobb to call him and destroy everything with a single question.

“Have you heard from Ariadne or Arthur?” he asks and doesn’t even bother with the normal greetings.

“Eh … no. I don’t expect Ari for another two days. Why?”

“Arthur hasn’t called.”

“Uh oh.” Eames grins. “Trouble in paradise?”

“No, and he usually calls every day.”

“That’s awfully sweet of him.”

“Eames, shut it!” Cobb more or less bellows and he sounds so serious that Eames actually sobers up. “He didn’t call, and I can reach neither him nor Ariadne.”

“Maybe they’re sitting in some posh restaurant that doesn’t allow cell phones and that’s why he didn’t call yet?”

“It’s past midnight here. Arthur should have called by now,” Cobb replies. “He’s never late.”

And he’s right. Of course he’s right, Eames thinks, and suddenly feels ill. Images of Ariadne flash before his eyes, leaves tangled in her auburn hair and the way she rolls his eyes at him. He swallows hard. “What do you think happened?” he asks, already dreading the answer.

“I have no idea, but … it’s not good.”

Eames closes his eyes. In their line of work it’s never good if somebody just vanishes from the face of earth all of the sudden.

“Call Saito,” Eames suddenly says.

“What?”

“Call Saito and your mother-in-law. She can babysit and Saito will look out for your kids security-wise,” he explains and leaves out the part in which they probably walk right into a trap. He doesn’t care, not if some idiots have Ariadne and Arthur.

“I … “ Cobb trails off, and Eames stops throwing clothes in his duffel bag.

“Cobb? If this is too … ” he sighs, because he’s not good at this. Where’s Ariadne when he needs her -- oh, right, vanished from the face of earth, obviously. “Look, I can do this alone. Check it out and maybe everything’s okay and we -- “

“No,” Cobb interrupts him forcefully. “This is Arthur … and Ariadne. We go together.”

“Okay,” Eames says and starts packing.

\---

Ariadne wakes up to the sound of someone retching. It’s not the most pleasant way to regain consciousness, and she feels a bit sick when she finally opens her eyes. The first thing she sees is a bleak gray wall, and then she turns around to see Arthur leaning against another wall.

“Oh, thank God,” he murmurs and his shoulders slump before they get caught by the handcuffs holding him to a ring in the wall above him.

“Arthur?” she asks and tries her best not to sound panicked. She doesn’t remember how they get here, she feels woozy, and then there’s the whole thing about Arthur being chained to a wall.

“Are you hurt, Ariadne?” he asks her, his voice sounding calm as ever. She shakes her head and blinks at him, because she doesn’t understand what’s going on.

“Good … good,” he says and his relief is palpable. “Eames would’ve killed me otherwise.”

She doesn’t even notice his words, her mind still all over the place when she tries to stand up. “What’s going on? Where are we?” she asks dumbfounded. She’s finally managed to get upright, but now the whole room spins and she absolutely hates how nothing makes sense.

“We’ve been in New York City, do you remember?”

“Yes.” She nods. “That exhibition about Blake … we didn’t see it, did we?”

“We will,” he says and there it is again, the calm in his voice that washes over her and rights her world a bit. “Do you think you can make it over to me?”

It’s only now that she notices that her hands aren’t bound and on unsteady feet she makes her way to his side. “This isn’t a dream, is it?” she wants to know once her legs ungracefully deposit her next to Arthur on the floor.

“It doesn’t feel like one. Do you have your totem on you?”

She feels in her pocket and actually finds the bishop. When she gets it out to tip it, Arthur turns his head so he doesn’t see what she does. She feels oddly touched and doesn’t know whether to be relieved or to cry. “Reality,” she informs Arthur and pockets her totem again.

“Thought so. He’s not really the type to meddle with dreams himself,” he says and turns to her. It’s the first time she really sees him since waking up. He’s sporting a split lip, a black eye and his knuckles look bruised. She frowns when she raises her hand and traces the broken skin on his fingers.

“Who were these guys?” she asks and feels like kicking somebody. A small smile surrounds Arthur’s lips, as if he can read her thoughts.

“Do you remember that night out when Yusuf proposed a job in Siberia?”

“Wassiljew,” she breathes, because of course she remembers that night; how the whole room tensed up and Eames glared at her as if she had been threatening to burn his paisley shirts. She had never dared to ask for an explanation. It had felt like a topic better kept untouched.

“Yes, and Cobol … judging from the men they send for me,” he says and hesitates for a second. “I’m sorry, Ariadne.”

“What for?” she asks honestly surprised.

“They wouldn’t have taken you if it weren’t for my presence,” he explains with downcast eyes.

“Don’t be stupid, Arthur,” she says and would have snipped his forehead, but she’s afraid of hurting him even more. “You’re not to blame for any of this. I like spending time with you, and I won’t let any stupid thugs let that take from us. And can you imagine the whining I’d have to endure if I dragged Eames with me to an exhibition about Blake?”

“It would have been epic, I presume,” he answers in a dry tone. “And he’d rather steal Blake than only go and see it.”

“He’d do -- nevermind.” She shakes her head. “But you, don’t you dare to apologize for this,” she says with a vigorous nod. She wants to ask what the plan is, because of course there’s a plan when Arthur’s involved, but before she can go on the door to their prison opens.

If this is Wassiljew, he’s nothing like she imagined him, she thinks. He’s a well-built man in his forties in a dark suit with a receding hairline. He’s not fat, nor does he wear a fur or gold rings on every finger. He doesn’t look the slightest bit like a crazy Russian mobster, but every bit the serious business man. But the way Arthur’s whole body stiffens next to her tells her everything she needs to know about the truth. Behind the Russian stands the guy Ariadne named Boris. He has his weapon trained on her, and she exchanges an angry look with him before she slides closer to Arthur.

“Priwjet, Arturotschka,” Wassiljew says and there’s a hungry look in his dark eyes that makes Ariadne shiver. Once they get out of this she will take Eames and Cobb out for dinner for their refusal to let Arthur anywhere near this creep. “How do you feel?”

“Oh, you mean how do I feel after your people worked me over once I was drugged with the Somnacin mix you know I don’t tolerate too well and couldn’t fight back? Just peachy, thanks for asking.”

“Ah … I really missed that spirit, you know. Couldn’t wait to see you again.”

“You couldn’t have just called?” Arthur asks, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “And maybe arrange for a meeting without the lady here? She means nothing to you, you can let her go.”

For an agonizing moment Wassiljew just smiles, as if he enjoys a particularly funny part of a play. “Oh, but she means something to you, I assume. You shared a hotel room with her after all, planned to take her out.”

“This is between me and you, I thought.”

“Oh, but yes, it is. However, that doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy a little … say, leverage in my hands, right? After all, you of all people should know how important such a thing can be.” His voice is soft and gentle, as if he’s telling an often heard story to his kids, and it makes everything even more surreal than it already is. “And really, after the last time, didn’t you think I’d take more precautions with you?” he asks when he crouches in front of Arthur. And he’s too close, Ariadne thinks, too close and too intimidating. He makes her skin crawl like only Mal did before, and he needs to be stopped, but before she can do anything Arthur’s elbow slightly presses into her side and prevents her from moving any further. “How sweet,” Wassiljew comments with a sneer and stands up again. “Good decision, Arthur. Keep your lady from doing something stupid, otherwise I won’t guarantee for her safety - manners or no manners. And before I forget, you should start thinking about what _you_ can do to keep her safe,” he says with a sneer before he leaves with his goon.

Ariadne doesn’t even have to think about her next words. “Don’t you dare! Don’t you dare, Arthur!”

“I’m not,” Arthur hesitates and licks his dry lips, “I’m not considering this, not if our escape plan works.”

“Good -- wait, what? We have an escape plan?” She blinks at him, and it’s only when he doesn’t meet her eyes that she realizes there was an ‘if’ in that sentence. “Arthur, no … ,” she whispers. “Not for me.”

“Especially for you,” he says defiantly and cuts her off before she can launch into a rant. “I’m not patronizing you, and yes, I’d much prefer it if we get out of here on our own, but if this doesn’t work I won’t jeopardize your safety, not over something that is on me.”

“I don’t know if I want to kiss or punch you,” she admits with a huff of breath after a minute of strained silence. He smiles at her, but it falters as soon as the smile reaches his eyes.

“Promise me … if our escape fails, you won’t fight me on this,” he pleads with her.

“Arthur … “

“Please.”

She hesitates for another second, but finally she nods. “And now tell me about this escape plan.”

\---

Eames has the feeling he made it in record time to New York City and that somebody should stand at the airport and give him a gold medal, maybe even Ariadne, happy to see him. Instead there’s Cobb, looking like he hasn’t slept in days.

“You have any idea if Wassiljew has a hideout in the neighborhood?” Cobb asks, and Eames wonders if Arthur’s rubbed off on him.

“Wassiljew?” Eames nearly lets his carry-on fall to the floor. If this is about Arthur’s connection to the Russian mobster, then they’re in deep trouble. “Shit.”

“My sources tell me his guys were seen with Cobol people in the city,” Cobb informs him with a grim face.

“Bloody hell … and now you think they teamed up … ?” He hopes against all hopes that Cobb will shake his head, but he doesn’t.

“Seems the most likely. It’s also the only lead we have. I’ve already been to their hotel. Nothing indicates a fight, there’s mysteriously no surveillance tape at all, and so on … they just vanished.”

“If this is somewhat connected to his Russian arse, I may know the right man to find his lair,” Eames says and punches a number in his cell.

\---

Come to think of, Ariadne should feel insulted. Wassiljew’s brainless thugs didn’t bother to cuff her, because apparently she’s only a tiny girl and no threat.

“No threat?” she repeats one more time. “I’ll show them what a threat I can be.”

Arthur laughs a bit and looks like he’d have patted her hair if he had his hands free. For a moment she seriously reconsiders picking his handcuffs, but on the other hand she desperately needs their plan to succeed -- so it’s back to picking.

“Hold still,” she reminds Arthur once again, because the fever he developed in the past few hours makes him fidget.

“Explain to me one more time why you’re an expert at this?”

“Eames showed me,” she finally tells him and is rewarded with momentary stillness, so she can actually go to work with her hair pin.

“Eames? Eames taught you this art of the thief?”

“Oh, really?” She rolls her eyes. “Please, don’t argue with me about the dark side of the force when you were part of my first job at the other side of the law. Besides, you taught me how to fight. Eames only wanted to impart his particular brand of wisdom on me.”

Arthur chuckles. “Oh my god, don’t tell me he was jealous.”

“He wasn’t -- “ She turns her hair pin a bit in the lock and frowns. “Okay, so yes, he probably was jealous. But isn’t that stupid? Why didn’t he say something?”

“He probably didn’t know there _was_ anything to tell.”

With a last turn of Ariadne’s wrist the handcuffs spring open. She sits back on the cold floor and gnaws on her lower lip. “Do you think he knows now?”

“If you vanishing doesn’t clue him in on his own feelings he seriously doesn’t deserve you,” Arthur says with a soft smile and shakes his hands to get the blood flowing again.

“So you knew all the time and didn’t say anything?”

“Ariadne … I’m not,” he shrugs, “I’m not really the right person to give relationship advice to anybody.”

“Point taken.”

“Jeez. Thanks,” he says with a smirk, and Ariadne has to laugh. And there it is again, the easy banter that even makes her forget that they’re in the hands of a ruthless criminal.


	7. Chapter 7

He’s going to buy Tobias everything he wants next time he’s in Germany, Eames decides when he’s off the phone and waiting for Cobb to come back with their rental car. Not only did the chemist not hesitate to help them, but he also gave them the location of a warehouse in the docks of New York that belongs to Wassiljew’s organization.  They stop in the middle of nowhere to get their guns out of their luggage and to assemble them. It’s the first time that Eames actually notices how clinically Cobb is about this aspect, almost as if he’s learned it with the military. He smiles a bit when he imagines how a young and disillusioned Arthur explained the finer mechanics of weapons to a naïve Cobb.

“So, do we have a plan?” Eames asks once he’s done, and because one of them has to acknowledge the fact that they go into this totally unprepared. Not that he cares, because no one will stop him from impressing Ariadne with his assorted tea collection.

Cobb startles and looks at him as if having a plan is a completely new concept to him, as if the only thought in his mind for the past hours has been to get Arthur and Ariadne back --- but that’s not true, is it? Eames thinks. Because for all Cobb cares about Ariadne, he would have stopped and planned if she were the only one missing. It’s not the nicest of truths, but it’s the truth nevertheless. However, Cobb stopped only to have his gun ready to get Arthur back. And it’s in this moment; the sun shining its milky light through some hazy clouds, that Eames fully realizes what’s going on.

“You really love him,” he whispers. It’s something he should have known all along, but there’s always been this lingering doubt about it, some sense of masquerade. It’s not there anymore.

“I do,” Cobb says back, with the same conviction in his voice which Arthur had when he had told Eames that Cobb hadn’t had incepted him. “And you’re here because … ?”

“I’ll talk to her about this later,” Eames replies and has no idea why, but Cobb seems to know.

“Do that,” he says, hides the gun under his jacket and climbs back into the car.

\---

“Hold on,” Ariadne suddenly says and stops running her hand through Arthur’s hair.

“’m not going anywhere,” he replies with closed eyes and takes another gulp of air. The nausea is getting worse, probably along with the fever because of the Somnacin mix in Arthur’s blood stream, and she clutches for every straw she can find to take his mind of it. They can do nothing but wait to execute their plan and it grates on her nerves.

“When I first woke up … you said Eames would kill you if something happens to me.”

“And?”

“Why not Cobb? Or Saito? Hell, even Yusuf -- I’m adorable! All of them should kick your ass if something happens to me!” she complains and he snorts. “No, seriously, I mean it! They like me … don’t they?”

“Of course they like you, Ariadne,” Arthur is quick to reassure her. He stops for a moment and licks his dry lips. “But not the way Eames likes you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she asks and turns around a bit, so that he still can lean against her, but she also can see his face. For the first time during their captivity, Arthur looks unsure. “Arthur?” she pushes, and finally he caves and sighs.

“Do you know the airport test?”

“I’m an architect, not an airplane engineer.”

He rolls his eyes and moves around so he sits up a bit straighter. She tries to overlook the fact how much that effort drains the last of the color from his face. “It has nothing to do with being an engineer. Just close your eyes for a moment, will you?”

She frowns at him, but reluctantly does as he says.

“And now imagine you’ve been away for a really, really long time. You just landed with the plane at the airport back home. You collected your luggage, passed customs and immigration … now the door to the arrival hall opens. Who’s waiting for you there, ready to pick you up?”

There’s the longest silence when she follows Arthur’s description with her mind, seeing everything in front of her eyes, then -- “Merde!” Her eyes fly open and she’s greeted by Arthur’s knowing smile.

It all comes crashing down around her when she hears voices outside their prison.

“You remember the plan?” Arthur asks.

“I do,” she says, and hesitates a moment before she kisses him on the cheek. “Whatever happens, I don’t blame you,” she whispers and takes her place on the other side of the wall. It’s time to show these Russian what a threat she can be.

\---

They still don’t have a plan, but Eames doesn’t think they actually need one because there are already three guys down outside the shabby warehouse, shot by Cobb. It’s a bit eerie, seeing him so ruthless. He let the first guy only live long enough to confirm that yes, this is Wassiljew’s hideout and yes, they do have prisoners. Eames finishes him off before Cobb can decide to let this man slowly bleed to death.

Eames nearly feels a bit sorry for Wassiljew, because judging from the lax security he has no idea what’s about to hit him. On the other hand, why should the Russian suspect that there are some people out here who’re willing to embark on one of the worst thought-out rescue mission for his prisoners? No one knows Ariadne’s connection to the team, and Wassiljew probably thinks that Arthur’s all alone in the world as he was the last time he met the other man.

Well, Eames never thought that Wassiljew was an especially bright man.

\---

Ariadne may be tiny and a woman, but she’s learned from the best, from people she considers her family. And nobody -- absolutely nobody -- threatens her family and gets away with it. So, really, it isn’t about if their escape plan will succeed, but more about how much carnage they’ll produce while they’re at it.

Wassiljew doesn’t pay her any attention when he reenters, he simply smiles as if he’s about to get the sweetest candy in the store. Boris isn’t much better, he probably thinks he could knock her out with a blink of his eye and he holds his gun loosely by his side. None of them notices that she’s barefoot or that there’s only one of her high heels lying on the floor.

“My dear Arturotschka, have you come to a conclusion how our … say, little arrangement should look like?” Wassiljew asks and kneels down next to Arthur, who still seems to be handcuffed. Boris snorts and Ariadne would really like to start their plan right now, but she’s waiting for Arthur’s sign.

“Do I have your word that you’ll let the lady go when I do whatever you want?” Arthur says through clenched teeth. The pure idea turns Ariadne’s stomach around, but still she has to wait.

“Of course. I’m nothing if not a man of my word,” Wassiljew says delighted and leans a bit closer to Arthur. “But I want a proof of, let’s say, your compliance, before I let her go.” He stretches his fingers out and Arthur flinches the tiniest bit when Wassiljew strokes over his exposed and fever-flushed neck.

“A kiss?” Arthur finally proposes.

“A kiss, da, da, I’d like that very much.” Wassiljew closes his eyes and moves forward. Boris is completely transfixed by the scene playing out before his eyes that he completely misses the slight movement of Arthur’s right hand, but Ariadne sees it.

She may be tiny and a woman, but she moves fast. Boris has no chance to react before he goes down with the heel of Ariadne’s shoe protruding from his neck. There’s blood everywhere, Arthur’s anatomy lessons finally paying off, but she has no time to stop and really acknowledge what she just did, because she has to pick up Boris’ gun and point it at Wassiljew. Not that Arthur really needs that extra help, because he has the chain between the handcuffs around Wassiljew’s neck, and he looks about ready to squeeze the life out of the Russian.

“Don’t!” Ariadne warns him. “We need him as our ticket out of here -- alive.”

For a moment it looks as if Arthur will simply ignore her, the chain choking Wassiljew a bit more, but eventually he nods and takes a deep breath. “Give me the weapon,” he says and only needs a mere moment to release the chain around Wassiljew’s neck and threaten him with the gun instead.

“Try to do something and you die,” he hisses to Wassiljew and points at the door. “Move.”

“Why should I?” Wassiljew asks with a raised eyebrow. “You’re going to kill me either way.”

“Not if you move right now and we get out of here,” Arthur explains with steel in his voice.

“Oh, is that so?”

“You have my word. I won’t kill you,” Arthur says calmly, and Ariadne wants to protest with all her might, but a look from Arthur silences her once again.

“Soglasjen. You’re lucky you have the reputation of being a man of your word, Arturotschka,” Wassiljew says with a smile and slowly opens the door. He appears to be completely unfazed by the sudden turn of events to his disadvantage, and it makes Ariadne furious. But she stays silent, gets rid of her other high heel and follows Arthur and Wassiljew outside their gray prison cell without sparing Boris another glance. She will have enough time to think about what she’s done once they’re out of here.

\---

It’s not that Eames hasn’t seen Arthur pull off some really impressive stuff. After all, Arthur isn’t the best point man in business for nothing, but this probably takes the cake. And that’s right now when Eames thinks he will earn the eternal gratefulness of Arthur and Ariadne for this rescue mission -- life is unfair that way.

He and Cobb haven’t encountered any more guards on the way into the warehouse, which in Eames’ mind means that Wassiljew deserves every single bit that is coming for him. He rather doesn’t think about the implications this lax security has for Arthur’s and Ariadne’s well-being.  Instead he thinks about Wassiljew’s need for an interior designer, because -- come on -- if he’s really been that desperate for Arthur he could make him somewhat comfortable at last. And Arthur may be a minimalist when it comes to architecture, but his taste definitely doesn’t include endless stretches of bleak, gray walls.

It’s Cobb who stops dead in his tracks that jerks Eames out of his unhappy thoughts. “What the -- oh.” Eames and Cobb aren’t the only ones standing still, the guy -- Eames is pretty sure it’s Wassiljew -- Arthur is holding at gunpoint stops at well. For a second there the Russian looks surprised to see them, but then his lips turn into an amused smile.

“Arthur, you okay? Ariadne?” Cobb asks, sounding out of breath. They both nod, although Eames has trouble believing Arthur, who looks as if only sheer force of will keeps him on his feet.

“So, this is why you made that promise,” Wassiljew says quietly and turns to face Arthur, a lazy smile on his face. “My dear Arturotschka, you’ve really come a long way since our first meeting.” He hesitates for a second, but doesn’t seem even a bit fazed that not only Arthur points a weapon at him, but Cobb and Eames as well. “I don’t presume I’ll get this kiss as a dying man’s last request, will I?” he asks completely casually and raises his hand as if to touch Arthur’s cheek. He doesn’t get very far, because Cobb really doesn’t react too kindly to the kidnapping of his lover and shoots him point-blank.

Eames is immensely proud of Ariadne, because she doesn’t shriek, doesn’t cry, doesn’t do anything girlish. She just stands there and has a look in her eyes as if she wants to kill the Russian all over again, which is something Eames would gladly help her to accomplish.

However, Wassiljew is dead and Arthur stumbles against the nearest wall, so Eames doesn’t have time to think about resurrection rituals, because they need to get out of here and that fast.

[the other after]

They make it out alive, and if it so happens that the warehouse blew up behind them, Eames has no idea why anybody should shoot a questioning glance in his direction.

It’s been three days, and they’re back in San Francisco. Eames isn’t entirely sure why he’s here, but Ariadne seemed little inclined to fly anywhere else and Eames felt even less inclined to leave her out of his sight. So now he’s in a town he has no business in, sharing a hotel room with Ariadne, and everything feels weird and right at the same time.

Well, right now it feels a bit weirder and a bit less right, and he’s strolling down the lawn towards where Arthur sits on a cot with a blanket loosely draped over his legs and a book in his hand. 

“Hi,” Eames says and sits down on a chair opposite to Arthur.

“Hi,” Arthur says back and blinks slowly against the bright afternoon sun. It’s early fall, but it’s still on the right side of warm, and Eames knows Arthur is cold as a side effect from Somnacin mix.

“How are you feeling?” Eames asks and he really wants to know. When he closes his eyes he still sees Arthur collapsing against the wall, still hears Cobb’s scared voice and -- worst of all -- Ariadne’s panicked look.

“Better,” Arthur answers and puts the book down. “How’s Ariadne?”

Eames hesitates for a moment. There are so many answers to that question. She cried, he could say. She killed a man and still sees his blood on her hands. She slept for a day and I made her her favorite tea. We watched _American Idol_. She smiled. She’s the toughest woman I know. I may be in love.

“She threw me out the hotel room,” is the one he finally settles for and scrubs his hand over his face.

“She … why?” Arthur glares at him.

“Er … “ Arthur still glares at him and Eames starts to fidget. “I might have asked her out on a date.”

“Might have?” Arthur repeats incredulously, but a content smile starts to form on his lips. “Wait, did you ask her out, she said yes, needed some time to get ready, and now you’re too scared to pick her up?”

“Er … no?” Eames says and hides his face in his hands. Arthurs laughs at him, and this is so not fair.

“You’re an idiot, Eames,” Arthur says good-heartedly. “You rob half the world, you performed an inception, you went with Cobb on a half-assed mission to save her and me, and now you’re too afraid to face up to her.”

“Crap, if you phrase it that way … “

Arthur rolls his eyes. “And now go and pick her up!”

For a long moment, Eames can only stare. “What, no _break her heart and I’ll break your bones_? No threat of endless suffering if I screw this up?” he asks finally.

“No.” Arthur shakes his head.

“Why?”

“I plead the fifth,” Arthur says and picks his book up again.

“I’m British. I don’t care about your constitution,” Eames reminds him.

“Just trust me on this.” And this is good as anything to shut Eames up, because he does trust Arthur -- which is probably not the wisest move ever, because Arthur is together with Cobb, but that worked out pretty well in the greater scheme of things, he muses.

“Okay,” Eames eventually says and gets up again to leave, because Cobb is coming down the lawn. Probably to scold Eames for distracting Arthur from recuperating or something like it. “Thanks,” Eames says quietly and Arthur nods at him.

“I’d wish you luck, Mr. Eames, but you don’t need it,” he says, and Eames can’t help but believe him.

The last thing he sees before he leaves is how Cobb presses a tender kiss to Arthur’s lips and his heart hammers a bit when he thinks about how Ariadne’s lips will feel under his. He can’t wait to find out.

[fin]

**Author's Note:**

>  **Author's Notes:** This story wouldn't have been possible without the support of [rei](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Rei). I can't thank you enough for your fangirling, honey. It kept me going. ♥♥♥ Another big thank you to all my other friends (in real life and on my flist) who had to listen to me whine about characters who never ever did what they were supposed to do. And last but not least, a thank you to my artist. Thanks for working with me.


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